Just a Geek?
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Tim centered entry for the NFA Dark and Stormy Night challenge. Tim is mad and he's not going to take it anymore! But what exactly is he mad about? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is my entry for the NFA Dark and Stormy Night challenge in which we had to incorporate a series of words (_earth, wind, fire, water, atmosphere, stone_) into the story. I did that...and wrote 26 chapters along with those words. It's Tim-centered and it's also a type of catharsis for Tim-fans who are annoyed with his treatment on the show on occasion. This means that if you approve of everything Tony says and does (along with everyone else), you really won't like this. :)

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! Not mine! I make no money off this...more's the pity.

* * *

**Just a Geek?**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

Tim slammed his door and didn't feel any better than he had when he'd slammed his car door...or when he'd slammed the button on the elevator, running out of NCIS as if he was acting out the name of a Meat Loaf album. He couldn't remember another time in his life when he'd felt as angry as he did at this moment. His mind was a raging torrent of mixed emotions and suddenly he remembered just what he'd done...and was surprised that he felt nothing other than anger. No regret. For the second, and final time, he'd turned in his badge and gun. This time, no one was interested in giving them back (being hit in the face with a badge might have had something to do with it)...and he wasn't interested in taking them.

"_Again, McGee?"_

"_Why didn't you get this done when I told you to before?"_

"_I thought you were supposed to be _smart_, McGee. So much for that."_

"_What in the world do you think you have to offer NCIS, anyway?"_

Remembering the catalog of snide remarks he had endured, not just that day, but throughout his tenure at NCIS, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to get away from them all. He never wanted to talk to a single person at NCIS again. They treated him like crap...or else like he was nothing but comic relief. No more.

Ever.

His phone started ringing, almost exactly as he had the thought. He flipped it open and looked at it. Of course, he had everyone's names and numbers programmed into it. Who else would be calling him? No one beyond family...and that was something he didn't want to think about. No one else even thought about lowly Timothy McGee. He was nothing more than an automaton who had no feelings, no concerns. He didn't care if no one liked him, if they treated him like dirt. Why would a geek have feelings?

It was Tony.

Tim laughed loudly and his sarcastic chuckle sounded totally unlike him. Just reading Tony's name brought the rage boiling back to the fore again. He answered but didn't give Tony a chance to say a single word.

"DiNozzo, if I want to hear more insults from you, I'll call. Otherwise, keep your dumb mouth shut and leave me alone!" He nearly shouted the last word and then hung up. He had taken so much crap from Tony since he'd been working at NCIS, and he was done with that. Someone would show up. He knew that. They would come with their insincere apologies or trying to make him "see reason" or something else. ...and he'd cave. He'd be forced to crawl back and beg for his job...in order to suffer through more of it. Not this time. He wouldn't. He couldn't. No more.

He strode into his bedroom and began packing a bag. If he wasn't here, no one could try and talk to him. He wouldn't have to think about anything else. He could forget about NCIS, about how much he'd loved it, about what it meant to him to get the job he'd always wanted. The fact of the matter was that no one really wanted him there...not really. They wanted a caricature. They wanted someone to be a grunt. Well, Abby was good enough with computers. They didn't really need him.

Thinking about Abby made the anger burn hot again. Jethro. That dog. He was at Gibbs' place right now. Good thing, too. Tim was not in the mood to confront the living proof of Abby's total disregard for him. Gibbs had made the suggestion that Jethro could use the backyard while they were at work; so that he didn't have to be shut up in Tim's apartment. Tim couldn't find it in himself to hate the dog, but he could, right now, find it in himself to hate Abby, to resent her callous attitude toward Tim having any other feeling but those she allowed him to have.

There was a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by thunder. Then, the lights went out. Tim laughed sourly. Figured. He'd seen the storm clouds as he drove home, but he'd not really noticed them in his fury. To be honest, it was a miracle he'd managed to drive at all...as angry as he'd been...as he still was. Knowing where everything was in his apartment served him well and he continued shoving items into his bag. Then, he stalked into the bathroom and grabbed a few essentials from there as well.

His phone started to ring again. It was Abby this time. Again, the anger surged. He thought about ignoring it, but no. No longer would he let Abby think he was okay.

"Abby, Jethro is at Gibbs' house. I don't know if he's been fed. I don't care if he's been fed. He can curl up and die for all I care. Okay? You care about that dog more than you ever cared about me; so you can take care of him! I'm done. You hear me? Done!" Again, he hung up before allowing any response. He thought he heard a faint sound as he disconnected, but he didn't care.

He grabbed his bag off the bed and stormed to the door. Yanking it open, he automatically checked for his badge and gun before remembering that he'd left them at NCIS. Left them. He'd thrown them. Well, he hadn't thrown the gun. He had _some_ sense, even if no one gave him credit for that. No, they didn't think he had _any_ abilities. He wondered why in the world Gibbs had even bothered to bring him onto his team when he had so little respect for him.

Tim reached the outdoors just as the rain began pouring down in raging torrents. The wind was blowing hard and he stood for a moment, thinking that the weather was reflecting his own emotions. He looked up and down the street, watching people running for cover and he didn't even care that he was getting wet. He didn't care that the rain was pelting his face, soaking him to the bone. All he cared about was that he was getting away.

_Yes, finally, free. Let Keating deal with them. I should never have left Cybercrimes. At least they appreciated me down there._

"McGee!"

Tim heard the voice, knew who it belonged to, but he didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to see _anyone_ from NCIS, and that included Ziva with her superior physical skills, her now-superior investigative skills. Her overall superiority. He walked to his car, ignoring her continued calls behind him, growing nearer all the time. He jerked his door open, threw his bag onto the passenger side and turned back, squinting through the rain being blown into his eyes.

"Why don't you guys get it? I'm leaving and I don't want to see you ever again! You can torment and abuse someone else! I'm done!" he shouted over the roaring wind.

"McGee! Wait!"

He didn't listen. He got into his car, locked the doors, put it into gear and peeled out of the parking lot, relishing the feeling of having had the last word for once in his life.

_It was a dark and stormy night...and one man was through,_ he thought to himself and laughed aloud again, angry and, hidden deep beneath the anger, a hurt that had surprised him with its intensity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Three days earlier..._

"What, Sarah."

"What do you mean, what?" Sarah asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

"I know that look. It's the look that says you're holding something back."

"Well..."

"Spit it out," Tim said glumly. "Tell me how it is that I messed up this time."

"Well...Tim..." Sarah actually looked reluctant, and Tim figured that must mean it was bad. "...you were acting pretty desperate...based on what you told me." At his expression, she hurried on. "Not that you necessarily _are_ really desperate, but it comes off that way...just because...you know..."

"What?" Tim asked and looked at the water shooting up from the fountains at the U.S. Navy Memorial. It was quite pretty, glinting in the sun.

_It should be stormy. Days shouldn't be so nice when I'm so miserable._

"...you just don't come across as a very..." Sarah was grasping for inoffensive words.

"Just tell me, Sarah. I know it's bad when _you're _trying to be nice to me."

"You don't seem very manly, Tim. I mean that in the nicest possible way! ...but you just seem..."

"Like a geek?" he finished.

"Yeah."

Tim let out a small hoot of unamused laughter. "Yeah, that's what I figured." He sighed. "That's how everyone sees me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it works with virtual strangers, too." He was so tired of the perception, but it was something he couldn't seem to shake.

"Not everyone sees you that way."

"Who doesn't, Sarah?" Tim asked, forcing himself to smile, like it didn't bother him. "I can't think of a single person...from any time, actually. ...and don't even think of trying to say that you don't. I know you do." He stood up and walked over to the fountain, staring at the water still trickling prettily into the pool. This shouldn't bother him so much. He knew he was a geek, always had been, always would be. So...why was it so painful to have that be all anyone thought of him?

_Because I'm more than that...aren't I?_

"Tim, you asked me and I told you what I thought. It doesn't mean I'm right."

Tim laughed outright. "As you have pointed out numerous times, you are the one who knows about people. I know about computers." He looked at his watch. "I have to go. I have a meeting with my publisher. She says she needs to get me back on track. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

"No. I'm meeting one of my friends at the Gallery of Art. She has an assignment due and I said I'd keep her company. It's not far."

"All right. See you later."

"Tim..."

Tim smiled again. "Don't worry, Sarah. I'm a geek. I've always known that." He walked away. The whole drive over to his publisher, he was thinking about all the times he'd been rejected because he was a geek. There was a reason why he'd told Ziva that there weren't very many women he'd have to track down to see if he'd fathered a child.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'm sorry, Timothy, but your latest chapters are no good."

"No good?" Tim asked, more surprised that she'd actually read what he'd written than that she didn't like it.

"Well, I _was _curious to see what you'd do with McGregor as the lead character but, I'm sorry, he has no pizzazz, no interesting stories to tell. He is boring. He's just a nondescript member of the team, doing only those things that are given to him by the important characters, that is, by Agents Tommy and Lisa and Tibbs."

"I thought that this would be a chance to develop another character, give some more depth to the team. McGregor was popular enough in _Rock Hollow_. He wasn't the main character but he instigated a lot of the action. People liked him. You said so yourself."

"Not popular enough to be the main character. These are the adventures of L.J. Tibbs, not Agent McGregor. You can't develop another character at the expense of the more interesting characters with only two books under your belt, Timothy. You're already behind schedule on this story and the test readers are bored by McGregor. He's good enough as a B character, but he doesn't have the interest to be a lead."

"They don't like the technical aspects?"

"No. Who cares about what computer did what? That works in some genres, but you have already established yourself as a suspense, murder mystery writer. Detectives, not hackers. I'm sorry, Timothy, but this only works so far and these latest chapters have taken it too far. Put McGregor in the background where he belongs. Hint at some interesting things about him if you can, but any sort of further character development will have to wait. Maybe book four...or five."

_The geek is boring. I see. I can't even get attention as a fictional character,_ Tim thought, feeling angry at Lyndi for her callous dismissal of a character he cared about...of a character he had based on himself. _Why does the geek belong in the background?_

"I'll need the revisions as soon as possible," Lyndi was saying, holding out the rejected pages. This was worse than getting back assignments in school. "Timothy?"

"Right. Thanks, Lyndi." Tim stood up, again, holding back his annoyance. He walked out with Lyndi's insincere compliments ringing in his ears...and her veiled warnings as well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"No, Tony, I'm not interested," Tim said on the phone. After his conversation with Sarah, his rejection by Lyndi...he didn't really feel like being social.

"_Oh, come on, Probie. Who rejected you this time? You just need to shake it off and try again!"_

"No, Tony. I told you that I'm not interested."

"_Man, you're such a bore, McGee. So many women, so little time. Granted, they'll all be after me, not you, but there's surely one who'll be desperate enough to–"_

Tim hung up on him. When his phone rang again, he didn't answer it. Instead, he went to bed.

...but he didn't fall asleep for a long time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim was careful not to speed. The last thing he felt he needed was a speeding ticket. No, he'd be the responsible driver...since that always bothered everyone he worked with...used to work with. Well, he didn't work with them anymore. He could be responsible, even in his fury. He was already heading west before he even realized that he had a destination in mind.

He was going home...and not because he really wanted to...because he should have gone there two days ago when he'd first found out. He hadn't because...because he didn't want to abandon his team in the middle of a case. He thought he might be needed...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days ago..._

"_Tim...it's Mom. Give me a call when you have a moment, please. It's important."_

Tim listened to the message with concern. If Mom was worried...everyone else ought to be freaked out. He looked around the bullpen. Tony and Ziva had gone with Gibbs...leaving him behind..._again_. _Am I or am I not a _field_ agent?_

He sighed morosely. The computer search was running. He had a minute.

"Mom?"

"_Oh, Tim. I didn't expect you to call back so fast. I just barely got off the phone with Sarah."_

"With Sarah?" Tim's heart sank. It was never good when the whole family was called.

"_I was hoping to have some...some news for you."_

"News? What about? What's going on?"

"_It's your father."_

"McGee!"

Abby's voice shocked him out of his focus on his mother's words.

"Not now, Abby," he said, knowing that he was letting his fear out in his own voice.

"Yes. _Now!_" Abby's hands were on her hips, arms akimbo.

"Is this important?" he asked.

"Yes!"

He sighed. "I'll call you back in a minute," he said into the phone.

"_It's all right, Tim. Maybe I'll have something more to tell you. You do have a job to do."_

Tim said good-bye and hung up. "What is it, Abby?"

"Gibbs told me that you've stopped paying a dog walker. Instead, you're leaving Jethro all by himself in Gibbs' back yard! All day long!"

"That's it?" Tim asked, flabbergasted. "This is about a dog?"

"A dog?" Abby's voice raised dangerously. "A _dog_? He's _your_ dog, McGee! You're supposed to care about him! Feed him!"

"I do feed him, Abby."

"You're leaving him all alone! Every day!"

"He's a dog, Abby. He's not a human being. He's fine. It was _Gibbs'_ suggestion."

As he expected, Abby ignored that because that would mean getting angry at Gibbs. She could get angry at Tim. Who cared about the geek?

"Take care of your dog, McGee," she said darkly and stalked away.

Tim leaned back in his chair. The computer dinged its results and Tim reluctantly put off calling his mother again. As she said, he did have a job to do, although...

_Abby could have done this. If she has the time to come up here and badger me about Jethro, she has time to run a search,_ Tim thought bitterly as he pulled out his phone to call Gibbs.

"Boss, I have the results." Tim quickly summarized what he'd found, happy that the data had done what he thought it was going to do.

"_How does this help us, McGee?"_ Gibbs asked, not sounding impressed or grateful at all.

"Uh...well...you have motive now, and possibly where he's been hiding."

"_Two things we could have figured out without that. Find something useful!"_

Gibbs hung up and Tim was left staring at his phone in surprise. He let out his breath in a shocked whoosh. He'd just finished doing what Gibbs had asked him to do...and now, Gibbs was acting as though Tim's work meant nothing. He shook his head and pulled up the files again. This time, he ran a search collating all the numbers called from the suspect's phone and contrasting it with the times he'd been online elsewhere, based on the tracking he'd already done. It took more than an hour to set up the parameters, but once it was done, the search was running. Again, he dialed his parents' number.

"_Naomi."_

"Mom. It's me. I'm sorry about that."

"_Oh, no. That's all right."_

"What's wrong with Dad?"

He heard a long sigh.

"Is he okay?"

"_He will be. I hope. Oh, Tim, he had another DVT. He threw the clot."_

Tim's blood ran cold. "I...I thought he was on heparin...to _stop_ that from happening again."

"_He was. This one was...it seems to have been building for a long time. You know that he can't feel it in his legs."_

"I can...I'll come home, Mom."

"_No."_ He could hear her pulling herself together. _"Sarah's on break and she's coming, but your father is going to be okay. They have him on anticoagulants and he'll just be in the hospital for a few days while they make sure it doesn't happen again."_

"Mom!"

Her voice was now firm, logical. _"No, Tim. Your father would hate to know that you gave up the few days of leave you have left just to come and sit at his bedside. I'll keep you updated. It just happened so fast."_

"Are you sure?"

"_I'm sure,"_ Naomi said firmly._ "We'll be all right. I'd have Sam tell you himself, but he's sleeping still. Tim, it's going to be okay."_

Tim swallowed hard and barely heard his computer ding that it was done with the search he'd set up.

"_I promise, Tim. Don't spread it around. You know how your father is about these things."_

Tim let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah."

"_Leave him his pride,"_ Naomi said, but Tim could hear the smile.

"Tell him that Voltaire said, 'we are rarely proud when we are alone.'"

"_I will. Don't worry, Tim. It's going to be all right."_

"Okay, Mom. I love you."

"_I love you, too. Bye."_

Tim hung up and stared blankly at the bullpen for a few seconds. The last time his dad had suffered from a deep-vein thrombosis, it had nearly killed him. From what his mother had said, this had been as bad.

His phone rang. Tim jumped and pulled himself back into the present.

"McGee."

"_McGee, do you have anything or should I just figure everything out myself?"_

It took almost more restraint than he possessed for Tim to refocus on the case. He looked at the search and was vaguely gratified to see what it had turned up. Quickly, he gave the information on the likeliest places for their suspect to get online, the cafes he'd been frequenting, the address he'd called more often than any other in the last few days. When he finished, he heard the telltale click that said Gibbs had hung up on him. Again.

Somewhere deep down, he felt the stirrings of anger. Did no one care about how he was doing? Did they only want information and nothing else? He might be a geek, but that didn't mean he didn't have feelings, that he didn't have worries, concerns, that things went wrong...that he enjoyed being appreciated for the effort he went to in order to get what was needed. He had agreed that he needed to stay here to help work on the case, but...no one cared. Probably, if he told them that his father was in the hospital, they'd shrug that off, too, preferring instead to harp on what else was wrong with him.

_It's only a couple of days until the weekend. I can wait until the weekend. I could drive there Friday night and stay for the weekend. Maybe by then, Dad will be okay. It will be all right._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

He realized that he was headed to Ohio and decided that was fitting. He'd sacrificed time with his family during a period of trauma for the team. Now, he had all the time in the world.

His phone rang. He flipped it open and read the origin.

_Ducky. Well, I haven't even seen him in the last three days. I suppose I'm not mad at him...but he'll just try to be understanding...and he's not. No one can be._

Still, Tim couldn't help but answer.

"What, Ducky," he said, sullenly, hoping to make Ducky regret calling.

"_Well, I can hear that you're still angry, Timothy."_

"What do you want? I shouldn't really be driving and talking at the same time. I'm not interested, anyway."

"_Interested in what, my boy?"_

"I'm not your boy," Tim retorted, knowing that was a stupid thing to say. "I don't work at NCIS anymore. You don't need to pretend to be concerned."

"_I'm not pretending, Timothy. I _am_ concerned. What brought this on?"_

"If you don't know, Ducky, then, I guess there's no point in explaining it to you," Tim said, feeling angry again. All this time, and Ducky had never noticed, had never seen all the slights, all the derogatory comments, all the derision? How was that even possible when every word Tony said to him was rude, when Gibbs only cared about results and not about the work it took to get there, when Abby cared more about a stupid dog than about someone who was supposed to be her friend.

"_Ziva was very worried when she called me."_

"Ziva was worried, huh," Tim said, letting sarcasm saturate his voice. "She wasn't worried earlier. I'll bet her infallible senses picked up on something, some vibration in the air as I drove away. I guess she figured out that I was mad...good for her. It only took three days. Three years. Not long at all. No wonder everyone thinks she's more competent than I am. No wonder _she_ thinks she's more competent than I am."

He could barely see through the sheeting rain. It was like the water fountain he and Sarah had visited a few days ago was being directed right at his windshield.

"_Timothy, what is wrong?"_

"Nothing is wrong anymore, Ducky. I've given up trying to work at NCIS, trying to do a job that obviously could be done by someone else...probably with more recognition. I never want to go back. Ever. If I have to see anyone there again, it will be too soon." Tim hung up and focused on the road. It seemed as though there was another layer of water he was seeing through.

"I am _not_ upset," he said furiously to himself. "I'm angry. I'm not crying about it."

In spite of his assertion, a tear slipped down his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_One day earlier..._

"Well, McGee, you have looked better," Ziva commented.

Tim grunted. He hadn't slept well, tossing and turning for hours with worry and frustration.

"Gosh, she must have got you good, eh, Probie?" Tony asked, grinning gleefully.

That Tony could so totally misconstrue his problem made Tim's frustration increase. Why did Tony have to turn everything into a slight about his love life? Couldn't they just ask how he was? Was something wrong? Did everything have to be a joke?

"Shut up, Tony," Tim said, not in the mood for civility.

"Oh, rejected, huh? Well, there's bound to be someone...somewhere...someday..."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Tony."

"Serious rejection, huh? You must have liked her and she saw your lameness."

"Tony, perhaps she was not interested just because she was not interested. There is no reason to think the defect was in McGee," Ziva said.

Tim marginally appreciated Ziva's attempt at deflecting Tony's insult, but he wasn't thrilled that she, too, was assuming he'd been rejected by a woman.

"Guys, just leave it alone, will you, please?"

The day went downhill from there. Abby was ignoring him...although, to be honest, Tim was almost relieved since that meant she wasn't trying to guilt him more about Jethro. Gibbs was on his case about some thing or another the whole time. ...and his only time to himself came when he volunteered to get lunch.

"Don't screw up my order, Probie," Tony warned.

Tim bit back his retort and reminded himself that he needed to get away from these people just for a few minutes.

As soon as he was out of NCIS, walking to the nearby deli, his phone rang.

"Mom?" Tim asked.

"_Tim, I'm not interrupting your work, am I?"_

"No, I'm on a lunch run. What's going on? Is Dad worse?"

"_No. No, I just wanted to bring you up to speed. The doctors are going to keep him in the hospital for the rest of the week, maybe a little into next week as well. This is the fourth thrombosis he's had in the last few months and they're worried it might be a trend."_

"Mom, are you sure that I–?"

"_No, Tim. We're okay here."_

"I'm coming on the weekend. I won't be working; so I'm coming. I'll leave after work tomorrow and drive."

"_Tim, you'll be tired!"_

"Mom, there's no way I'm going to sleep well sitting here, waiting for something to happen. I might as well use my insomnia for something worthwhile. McGees stick together!"

"_All right. I won't lie. It will be nice to have you here, even just for a couple of days. Sarah will be glad, too."_

"How's she doing?"

"_As well as you might expect."_

Tim was suddenly aware that he was being shoved forward in the line he'd joined. It was his turn to order. He gave the order in distraction and then waited while talking to Naomi about nothing in particular. He got the sandwiches and hung up just before he stepped inside NCIS.

_I hate staying here right now,_ he thought to himself. The feeling only intensified when it was revealed that he'd screwed up the orders. Tony and Ziva _both_ were annoyed at him. Tony threw his in the trash and swiped Tim's.

"Punishment for screwing up...again. I still haven't forgotten the scrambled eggs," he said and then gave half to Ziva.

Tim nearly shouted at them but at the last moment, suppressed the desire and sat down at his desk, saying nothing because he knew that he wouldn't be able to say anything without swearing. He stared at his monitor and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

The headslap came out of nowhere.

"Are you listening to me, McGee?" Gibbs snapped.

"Sorry, Boss...what did you–?"

Gibbs glared at him and walked to the stairs, heading toward Vance's office.

"He wanted you to go down and help Abby with some data mining," Ziva said helpfully.

_With Abby. Great._ Tim nodded and walked to the elevator, knowing better than to drag his feet where Gibbs might see him.

Abby was still mad at him. The injustice of it rankled so deeply that it was all Tim could do _not_ to tell her to...well, to be very rude to her. He knew, however, if he did that, something would happen that would make him feel bad about it...because that's what _always_ happened when he tried to express his frustration. He either went too far or else the injured party used it as ammunition.

The strained atmosphere was rather like the time he'd been angry at Abby for acting like his expression of interest in her had been something horrific. He began to work, not even glancing at her. His mind kept wandering, though...to Ohio. He'd just realized that his mom hadn't given him a quote back from his dad. That meant she'd either forgotten or else...

_...he hasn't been awake to say anything..._ His stomach twisted with worry, his hunger forgotten in the face of the possibility of something even worse going on...while he was stuck here with people who care less for him than for...than for a dog.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Another tear followed the first and Tim angrily wiped them away. It was ridiculous. He wasn't upset about leaving NCIS. He should have left a long time ago.

_I should have quit when Director Shephard talked me into it. I should have just stayed away then. Only, of course, Gibbs talked me into staying...by hitting me on the head. Yeah. Figures._

The road turned suddenly and Tim almost overcorrected. There were no other cars on the road. Most people were smart enough to stay off the roads in this kind of downpour. It was hard to see. The rear lights he'd seen ahead of him before had disappeared. He wasn't sure if that was because the car had pulled off or because it was just too far ahead of him...meaning, something like a hundred feet.

He'd driven this road plenty of times. He knew the way. It wasn't like he couldn't make it there. He wasn't tired. In fact, with the adrenaline that was still pumping through his veins, he was wired. Besides, he had to get home. What if...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_That day..._

"So...I hear you're too boring to be a character in your own book, Probie," Tony taunted as Tim got off the elevator.

He'd had another bad night. Even when he'd managed to sleep, his dreams had been full of car accidents, funerals...he'd actually woken up crying. Really, today couldn't be over fast enough, and Tony wasn't helping.

"How did you hear about that?" he asked, forgetting to try and deny it.

"I have my sources," Tony said.

"You..." Tim began, but was stopped by a headslap.

"If I want chatting about your book, McGee, I'll investigate another murder by one of your fans," Gibbs growled as he walked to his desk.

Tim swallowed. That had hurt, but he didn't say anything.

"Ziva, Tony, Lovitz needs your help out in Alexandria. His team's out sick. Food poisoning."

"Oh, that's too bad. Maybe they picked Probie's messups out of the trash yesterday."

Tim started chewing on his tongue, but he stood up to follow them.

"Not you, McGee."

Tim sank back down to his chair. _What have I done wrong _now_?_

"You have a problem, McGee?" Gibbs asked as soon as Tony and Ziva were gone.

"A problem, Boss?" Tim asked, keeping his voice even.

"Yeah. Your work has been lousy and your attention span is shorter than DiNozzo's. You have a problem? Deal with it on your own time. If you can't handle the work you have to do, don't bother coming." He turned to his desk to dig up a file. He didn't see the stricken expression on Tim's face. By the time he turned back around, Tim was again staring at him, feeling the injustice of it all building up inside him.

My_ work's been lousy? I single-handedly tracked down that guy for you two days ago and you never said anything but that I wasn't fast enough. I come here every day and deal with the snide remarks and you think that..._

"Vance needs this deciphered by the end of the day. You need help, ask Cybercrimes. Abby's busy."

"I'm sure she is," Tim muttered to himself.

Gibbs was immediately in his face. "Problem, McGee?"

_He'll just take Abby's side. She's his favorite, always has been. I'm just the resident computer geek._

"No, Boss. I'd better get to work." He took the file and sat down at his computer. Feelings of impotent rage started welling up in his gut.

Tony and Ziva came back a few hours later when Tim was in the middle of deciphering the file Vance had given him. It was really hard, but he was determined to get it done. He tried to ignore Tony's wisecracks. Ziva didn't join in, but she laughed.

"Why is Gibbs not letting you leave NCIS?" she asked when Tony had finally shut up.

"I guess I'm shackled to my computer," Tim said in a monotone. He didn't want to talk about that of all things.

"Well, McGee, you know you are not as good an investigator as you are a hacker," Ziva said.

"Thanks, Ziva," Tim said, his anger growing. "I really appreciate that." _Thanks for telling me you think I'm worthless as a field agent. That's what I needed to hear today._

Then, Lovitz called them both away. Gibbs was...somewhere. Who knew where...and Tim kept working. He just wanted the day to be over so that he could go and see his dad and make sure he was okay. ...and he wanted desperately to get away from this horrible week. He knew where Tony had heard about Lyndi's comments. He'd found a message on his phone. He hadn't noticed it before because it hadn't shown as a new message...because Tony had listened to it...demonstrating his incredible respect for the privacy of his colleagues.

The sun went down. Tony and Ziva were still working on Lovitz' case. Gibbs had come in and out. Vance had come down once for a report, but hadn't been overly dismayed that Tim wasn't done. He just blithely assumed Tim could stay and finish...since it wasn't like Gibbs was using him at the moment. Tim had nodded.

Then, his phone rang. No one was in the bullpen. He risked answering.

"Mom?"

"_No, Tim!"_ Sarah sounded angry.

"What's wrong, Sarah? Where's Mom?"

"_With Dad. Like you should be. Why aren't you _here_?"_

"Mom told me to stay."

"_Of course, she'd say that. Tim, don't you _care_? This is _Dad_! Don't you remember what happened the last time he got one of these?"_

"Of course, I do, Sarah," Tim answered, stung by her attitude. "I'm coming home tonight...after work."

"_After work? Tim, Dad's in a coma!"_

"What?" Tim's heart seemed to stop beating. "Mom never..."

"_Well, since your _work_ is so important. Why would she tell you? After all, it's not like Dad being paralyzed isn't your fault or anything."_

"Sarah, that's not–"

"_Tim, you should be _home_! You can't just keep working! I don't care how much you love your job. You're supposed to care about us, too!"_

"I do care. How could you think that–?"

Suddenly, his phone was snatched out of his hand. Gibbs disconnected it, hanging up on Sarah.

"I told you to deal with your personal life on your own time, McGee," Gibbs said, his eyes warning.

"Timmy's in trouble," Abby sang. She had come up with Gibbs to give some reports to Lovitz.

"Gosh, McGee," Tony said. "Even I know better than to try and woo a girl during work hours."

How could everyone be there when the bullpen had been empty just a few seconds before? How could Gibbs have hung up on his sister? How could he have assumed, like everyone else, that Tim was talking to a girl? How could he assume that Tim would do something against the rules if it hadn't been serious? Why was it that no one cared enough to ask what was wrong? Tim stood up and stared at everyone in furious silence for about two seconds before he reached out and snatched his phone away from Gibbs.

"That's it," Tim said. He wasn't shouting. He was too angry to shout at the moment. "That is _it_. I'm done." He looked at Gibbs. "Don't you _ever_ hang up my phone when I'm talking. Ever." He picked up his bag and started to walk to the elevators.

"McGee, you're not done. You haven't finished that file," Gibbs said at his most didactic.

Three days of worry, anger and frustration burst out all at once. Tim turned around, pulled the badge off his waist and threw it at Gibbs as hard as he could. It was probably only the shock of the action that prevented Gibbs from catching it. Instead, Tim was furiously happy to note, it hit him in the face. He then slammed his gun onto Tony's desk as hard as he could and was gratified to see Tony jump in surprise.

Now, he started shouting. "I said I'm _done_! I quit! You can keep that and I never want to see any of you ever again!" He turned and pounded the defenseless elevator button. The elevator was already there. He sent it down, stormed out of the building, to his car and drove away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

His phone rang, startling him out of his bitter thoughts.

Tim didn't want to answer the phone. Every phone call he'd received this week had sent him lower and lower. He didn't think he could take anyone else. The rain was still pouring down. How big was this storm system anyway? Shouldn't it be dying down by now? He'd been driving for two hours already.

The phone stopped ringing...and then, started again. He sighed. Obviously, whoever was calling would _keep_ calling until he answered. That would be more distracting than anything else. He answered.

"What."

"_McGee, what do you think you're doing?"_

Tim winced. Of all the people he didn't want to talk to right now, Gibbs was first on the list.

"I have nothing to say to you. I don't answer to you anymore or did you miss that fact when I hit you in the face with my badge?"

"_What are you doing, McGee?"_

He didn't sound concerned. He didn't sound like he cared about anything other than the fact that he'd lost his computer grunt, someone to take some of Abby's workload. That's all he was.

"None of your business, Bo-Gibbs. None of your _business_. I quit NCIS and I don't regret it at all."

"_Why not?"_

"You're...you're all the same! You don't even _see_!" His eyes began prickling with tears. No, he wouldn't start crying. He wasn't going to cry.

"_See what?"_

Then, Tim dropped his phone and stared out the windshield. He didn't even try to correct his trajectory. He knew that he wouldn't make it. He knew that if he put on his brakes he'd only skid on the wet road. He knew it...because, except for the lack of a city bus, he'd seen this sight before. The inevitability. He closed his eyes; so he didn't see the collision.

Then, after the scream of metal and a wrenching shift in direction, he didn't see or hear anything at all...not even Gibbs on the phone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Dad? Dad?"

He expected fire but felt none. He expected smoke but there was nothing. Only rain falling in on him.

"Dad? Are you there?"

He'd been there just a moment ago...

_No, that's not right,_ a voice said inside him.

He couldn't see, but a flash of lightning lit up his eyelids and told him that he wasn't blind. Tim blinked wet out of his eyes. It wasn't rain. He tasted iron...blood...in his mouth. He breathed and moaned as he tried to change position. He couldn't. He was stuck, pinned to the seat. The situation was horribly familiar.

Tim opened his eyes again and ran a trembling hand across his forehead, wincing as he touched what must be an open wound. The soft top of his car had been torn off...mostly. There were little bits, whipping around in the wind, still attached to the frame, but he was more or less stuck in a torrential downpour with no shelter.

"Dad?" he called again.

He turned his head slowly toward the passenger seat. Empty.

"No. That was...not now. Fifteen years ago. A long time ago," Tim whispered to himself, trying to clear his head and bring himself back to the present. "Dad isn't here. No one is here. Just me."

He pulled against the steering wheel and dashboard which had wedged him in his seat. He couldn't seem to move it at all. He had no energy.

Then, suddenly, without warning, he remembered why he was in this position. What had led to this...

"Where's my phone?" he asked the air.

_You dropped it, moron,_ his mind told him.

He looked around and tried to bend over to grab the phone from the floor, but couldn't find it and it was harder to breathe when he pushed himself against his seatbelt. He tugged at the seatbelt, trying to remove it, but the button seemed to be jammed. He couldn't get it off.

"It has to be down there somewhere." He was trying not to give in to the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. He was alone. In the dark. In a storm. Tim squinted through the rain and the broken windshield. All he could see in the momentary flash of lightning was a tree...trees. Nothing else.

"I'm in a forest." He vaguely remembered being on the stretch of the road that was pretty much surrounded by forest...and nothing else. No towns within a mile or two.

More blood dripped down into his eyes. He blinked it away and tried to press his hand against the wound. It felt long...but his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't keep up the pressure. He fished around for his phone again. It had to be there.

_It doesn't have to be down there. It could have been thrown from the car._

Tim didn't like the logical part of his brain at the moment. He didn't want to think about those things, about the problems, about the fact that no one knew where he was.

"Not that anyone cares anyway," he said aloud.

He leaned over again and tried to find something to use as a bandage, but his head started to spin.

"Dad?" he called and then remembered, "No, Dad's not here."

He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just been talking to him, though...even though he knew that wasn't possible. He knew that his father was in a coma in a hospital bed about four hours away from him. ...the same general location as the only people who cared about him as a person, people he'd already abandoned for a job he no longer had.

Tim shivered. This wasn't a warm summer rain. It was cold and heavy and...it was nearly midnight...at least, that was what he figured. His car wasn't running at the moment and he hadn't thought to look at his watch.

Another flash lit up the sky. Tim looked around and couldn't see anything, anyone. Only trees. He had no idea which way he was facing and he didn't even know how far off the road he'd gone.

"What would Gibbs do if he were here?" Tim asked himself...and then, his mind stuttered to a stop because thinking about Gibbs and everyone else was as painful as his physical injuries. The anger was still there...but a tear joined the rainwater and fell down his face. "He'd smack me upside the head and then glare at me without saying anything. I'd have to be a mind reader and somehow know exactly what he wanted...even if _he _didn't."

Tim pulled against the steering wheel once more...but he couldn't budge it.

_Of course not. I'm the geek._

"Tony would crack jokes...something like, 'Wow, McCrash Dummy, how could someone who drives so slow manage to wrap himself around a tree?'" Tim heard the hurt in his own voice and pulled against the steering wheel again, more fiercely. No good.

"Abby would blame me for the accident. 'Tim, why weren't you paying more attention? Are you trying to _kill_ me?'" Another yank...and another tear, joining the blood that was again oozing from the wound on his head. Nothing.

"Ziva would point out how much better she is at driving because, even though she drives like a maniac," Tim imitated her accent, "I do not get in accidents, McGee." He pulled as hard as he could against the steering wheel, but it was so wet with rain (at least, he _hoped _it was rain), that his hands slipped off and he sliced his knuckles on the crushed frame.

Tim cursed to himself and examined his now-bleeding hands. In sheer frustration, he swore at the top of his lungs.

"They wouldn't care if I died!" Then, he said, bitterly, "No, they'd care...they'd care because they'd feel guilty. They wouldn't care because of me, only because of themselves. They'd think that it was their fault and feel all guilty about driving me to my death. They only ever care when something is really bad, never when it's just me not acting like myself. Then, it doesn't matter. Why would my feelings matter? I'm just the geek. Geeks don't _have _feelings."

He pressed his hands against his legs and hissed at the pain as he tried to stop the bleeding...and then, he stopped abruptly as another thought came to him.

"Sarah's going to think that I'm not coming at all. She's going to think that all I care about is NCIS." That brought more tears...at the irony, if nothing else...and more determination to get free. He _had _to get to Ohio. He had to get to his family, had to be there. _What if Dad dies this time? It's my fault he's in that stupid wheelchair in the first place._ Frantically, Tim tugged at the jammed steering wheel, almost manic, in his attempts to get free...

...but nothing happened. The steering wheel refused to budge, even an inch. Tim began to pound on it in desperation. Occasionally, he hit the horn in his despair, but there was no one around to hear it. Finally, he began to sob, giving into the hopelessness of his situation. He collapsed onto the steering wheel pinning him to his seat and cried.

The rain was still falling and the wind whipped the branches around. Tim didn't even notice how cold he felt, so deep was his misery.

Finally, almost as though he heard a voice, he thought of a quotation.

"Dad would say something like, 'the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.'" ...and he also knew that his dad would never blame him for this...or for the accident that had paralyzed him.

Tim sat back up, wiped away the blood again, and looked around. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he saw the shape of his bag on the floor. Shivering, trembling, he leaned as far as he could and just barely touched the loop with his fingers. Straining, trying to ignore the pain as he pushed against both the seatbelt _and_ the steering wheel, he reached farther and managed to move the bag a little closer to him. He had to sit up again and wait for the pain to subside a little before he tried again. He was shivering more now than he had been.

_I wish the rain would stop._

Then, he smiled to himself as he thought of what his dad would say to that.

"_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 'Into each life some rain must fall.'"_

He actually laughed a little. It felt like he'd had no reason to smile or laugh in ages. That sobered him, but he leaned over again and reached for the bag. He moved it a little closer to him and he was about to pull it all the way when he heard a creak.

That was an ominous creak. Tim looked over his head and saw the branches above him swaying dangerously as the wind picked up. Another gust and the creaking became a cracking.

He had just enough time to throw up his hand to protect his head before the branch came down on him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Tim swam slowly up toward consciousness...and regretted it. He was also vaguely surprised that he was waking up at all. Something in him had expected to be dead. He tried to open his eyes but found that they were caked shut. One of his hands was by his face and he rubbed it against his eyes. Finally, they opened and greeted a fuzzy greenish light with a mind at least twice as fuzzy. He was shaking uncontrollably and he wasn't sure he knew where he was...beyond in a cramped, uncomfortable position and feeling pain from more places than any conscious person should. Something cold and wet dripped into his ear and he made a weak protest, surprised at how soft his own voice was.

Then, he thought he could hear other voices, but he wasn't sure of that because he couldn't stop shaking long enough to stop the rustling sounds above him.

"Anyone down there?"

That voice...was it talking to him?

_Am I down?_

"D-D-Dad?" he called weakly...but knowing somehow that his father wouldn't respond. That didn't stop him from trying again, however. "D-D-Dad?"

"Hello?"

There were sounds, cracking twigs, muffled curses, growing nearer and nearer.

"Is anyone in there?"

"Y-Yes!" Tim called as loudly as he could...in a voice just barely above a whisper.

"I think I heard someone!"

A fainter voice replied, "I'll call for help!"

Then, there was a voice right...above him...and he heard a long low gasp of shock.

"Sir, can you hear me? Are you alive?"

"Y-Y-Yes," Tim whispered. "D-Dad?"

"No, I'm not your father. Is he with you?"

"I..." Tim stopped and tried to think. "I-I d-d-don't know. Is he?"

"Jake!" The voice startled him, not that a single tremor was distinguishable amidst the incessant shivers that wracked his body. "Get down here! I need your help!"

"Coming!"

More cracking twigs, but only a couple of curses brought the far-away voice near. Tim couldn't see either one of his would-be rescuers. All he could see was that strange filtered green light. ...and he was starting to feel an intense worry about his father. He couldn't remember why. If he could just stop shaking, he was sure that he'd be able to remember. Then, the green disappeared and regular sunlight shone on his face. He wished it was warmer.

He heard another intake of air and then low voices, unintelligible to him.

"Sir, what's your name?"

Tim turned his head up, but his vision was blurry. His rescuer didn't have a very detailed face. He shivered and considered the question.

"Sir?"

"T-Timothy McG-Gee. I'm c-c-cold."

"Gosh, of course! We have blankets in the car." The blurry shape receded. "Jake, stay with him!"

"Can't we move him out of the car?"

"No! Not until the ambulance gets here. Just keep him talking!"

Tim continued to shiver. Then, he heard someone shifting nearby.

"Dad?" he asked.

"No...uh...not me. Do...do you know what year it is?"

Tim paused. "Um...is...is it...1994?"

"No." The voice sounded uncomfortable.

"G-Good."

"Why? What happened in 1994?"

Tim was suddenly strangely amused by the situation. "A c-c-car accid-d-dent." He tried to laugh, but that strained parts of him that wouldn't take any more strain.

"So...do you know what year it is?"

"I sh-should. Umm...m-maybe...2009?"

"Yeah. That's right. You were in another car accident in '94?"

Tim nodded and then started when he felt the weight of a blanket drape over him...followed by another. It was nice, but he was still cold.

"Was your dad with you?" The question was softly, almost reluctantly spoken. He wanted to know but didn't at the same time.

"Y-Y-Yes." Tim couldn't bring himself to say more...but he thought it anyway. As slow as his mind was, he still remembered all of that event...or at least, the aftermath.

Sirens wailed up the highway, but it wasn't the ambulance. One of the two guys called toward the vehicle.

"Hey! Down here!"

Snapping twigs, lots of them, signaled the arrival of more people.

"Sir..."

"His name is Timothy."

"T-Tim," Tim corrected.

"Okay, Tim, how are you feeling?"

"C-Cold. Is m-my dad here? Is h-he okay?"

"He's getting mixed up on the years. He told me he had an accident with his dad years ago." The voice wasn't _quite_ low enough for Tim to miss it.

He _was_ worried about his dad, though. Why? If he wasn't in the car, then why was he so worried? Then, finally, he remembered, even through the ice that seemed to be coating his brain. ...and he tried to sit up.

"I h-have to g-go."

"Hold still, please, Tim." Warm hands, reaching under the blankets, held him down.

"N-No. You d-don't unders-s-stand. I h-have to g-g-get home!" Tim said, resisting the hands that were keeping him immobile. He had no strength to fight them off and he started to cry, hot tears that momentarily warmed his cheeks. "P-Please. Th-They'll th-think I d-d-don't care!"

It was pathetically easy for his rescuers to keep him from moving, and after a few seconds, he had no energy to do more than weep. He must have faded away again because the next thing he knew there were more people there. One was fastening a neck brace. Another was probing painfully at his abdomen and chest. He whimpered.

"He's stabilized enough for extrication. You ready? He's in pretty bad shape. How long has he been out here?"

"I don't know. I found him...but I didn't see him go off."

"What _did_ you see?"

"I was...answering the call of...um...nature, and...well, I saw the car down here. I called out and he answered."

"Sir? Sir?"

Tim felt himself getting strapped to a board and he opened his eyes again, but the people were just as fuzzy as they had been.

"When did you crash?"

When? Tim thought about it. Years ago, he'd crashed...into a bus. ...but no, that wasn't what she was asking.

"N-Night. D-D-D-Dark."

"More heat packs. We've got to get his temperature up...and I'd be willing to stake my life on some pretty bad internal bleeding."

"One...more...got it!"

Tim felt the steering wheel fall away from his legs, the seatbelt from his lap. Again, he tried to sit up. Again, he was held down.

"Whoa! Stay still, sir!"

"Have...to go," he mumbled, although he now knew only innately where that place happened to be located.

"The only place you're going at the moment is the hospital. What's the name of your family? We can have someone call them."

That was a terrible idea. He knew that much. "No! Can't c-c-call them! No!" If they came, Dad would be alone... "...c-c-can't l-leave him al-lone..."

He was lifted onto a long hard board, strapped down and then watched as a blur of faces, trees and sky passed in front of his face. It was a distinct relief to finally be stretched out flat, rather than cramped and bent over the hump, trapped by his own steering wheel.

"Okay." The voice was calm and soothing. "We won't. What about friends, coworkers?"

Tim's mind was rapidly shutting down but he remembered the emotion attached to the answer to that question, even if he was forgetting the specifics in the icy wasteland of his brain. It was a small region of white-hot fury and black despair that had not abated one bit. It was only the cold of the rest of him that kept it from exploding out.

"N-No. N-None. Alone." He hadn't been alone before. He'd had friends once, coworkers, but not anymore. Once he would have been able to call on them, but now, he had to deal with this alone. He knew that much...and he thought he knew why. "N-No one c-c-cares." His eyes slipped closed as he heard the ambulance doors closing.

"Tim! Stay with me, now! Tim! You need to stay awake!"

_No one cares._

That was Tim's final thought as he allowed himself to fall into the frigid waters of unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_One day earlier..._

The entire bullpen was silent in the wake of Tim's departure. Tim's normally calm demeanor had allowed most of his coworkers to assume that he didn't even _have_ that kind of extreme emotion inside him. Few had ever heard Tim's voice raised in anger; fewer still had ever seen him get violent. There was a red mark forming on Gibbs' cheek where the badge had hit him. Tim had slammed his gun down so hard that there was a gouge in the surface of Tony's desk.

Those things, however, didn't matter in the enormity of what had just happened, something that had come out of nowhere.

Slowly, Gibbs bent over and picked up the projectile, turning it over in his hands.

"What just happened here, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked up and saw Vance standing with an expression of restrained surprise on his face.

In a voice that was completely calm, betraying nothing, Gibbs replied, "It looks like McGee just quit."

"Yes, I gathered that myself. Why?"

"I have no idea," Tony answered, his eyes locked on the gun laying on his desk. "Where did that even _come_ from?"

"Are you going to speak to him?" Vance asked, in polite inquiry. "Perhaps _ask_ your former agent why he is quitting?"

"He sounded very angry," Ziva commented, staring at the elevator.

Abby was standing in shocked silence, her eyes open extremely widely. Her gaze kept shifting from Gibbs to Tim's desk and back again, as if she was silently begging Gibbs to put Tim back in his space.

"But _why_?" she asked softly.

"So...none of you has the slightest idea why your _friend_ and colleague was so fed up that he not only quit but also assaulted his superior?" Vance asked. His tone was mild, but there was an unspoken rebuke in his words.

There was no reply.

"Well, far be it from me to force someone to work in a place they dislike so vehemently," he continued. "I'll expect all the necessary paperwork to be on my desk by Monday, Agent Gibbs."

He walked away, leaving the shell-shocked team behind. The sound in the bullpen gradually resumed normal levels although there were many sidelong glances toward the motionless four.

Finally, a discrete _ahem_ distracted them from the sudden bout of insanity that had them all believing Tim had just quit.

"Abby?" Agent Lovitz asked. "You had some information for me?"

Abby swallowed and forced herself to look back at the grizzled agent. She nodded. "Yeah...yeah, I do."

"In your lab?" he suggested helpfully.

"Yeah," she said, her gaze drifting back to the empty chair. "Yeah. Downstairs." She allowed Lovitz to lead her to the elevator.

"Boss?" Tony asked hesitantly. Gibbs was still staring at Tim's badge.

"What, Tony?"

"You...you're bleeding, just a bit."

In surprise, Gibbs looked up and put his hand to his cheek. Sure enough, his fingers came away red. Tim had thrown the badge edge on, like a ninja star and the metal edge had caught and torn the skin on Gibbs' cheek.

"I think you two still have work to do," he said and strode away to the men's room.

Tony and Ziva, left alone, stared at each other...and then at Tim's gun.

"What should we do with that?" Ziva asked, pointing.

"Nothing. Probie'll be back," Tony said with false confidence.

Ziva shook her head and looked out the windows. "I am not so sure, Tony. I have never seen McGee so angry before."

"You'll see. He'll cool down and then be all apologetic. It's _McGee_! He doesn't hold grudges. Sure, he can get mad in the moment, but then, everything's okay. Like it never happened."

"He quit, Tony," Ziva pointed out.

"He quit before. Didn't leave, did he."

"He threw his badge at Gibbs. He _hit_ him. That is very different from being maneuvered into quitting by Director Shephard."

Tony was silenced for a moment, but then, he pulled out his phone. "I'll show you. He's probably already regretting it."

"Tony...I do not think you should..." Ziva trailed off.

Tony dialed Tim's number and waited...for a few rings. Tim finally answered.

"McG–!" he began, cheerily...and then, held the phone slightly away from his ear. Tim's final shouted word was audible, even to Ziva. Tony's expression was nothing less than shocked.

"He is still angry?" Ziva asked.

Tony closed his phone. "I think we still have work to do, Ziva," he said, his voice soft.

After a few minutes, he stood, picked up Tim's gun and put it in Tim's desk drawer. Out of sight.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"There you have it, Lovitz," Abby said with none of her usual verve.

"Thanks, Abby. That helps...way more than that stupid witness statement I was working from earlier. You lot have definitely made my job easier today."

"My pleasure," she said, staring glumly at the computer screen.

Lovitz smiled sympathetically. "You could try asking him what's wrong," he offered.

Abby looked at him in surprise.

"Just a suggestion."

Then, there was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning...and the power went out. Emergency generators kicked on after a few seconds, but Lovitz sighed.

"I guess I'm taking the stairs. See you later, Abby."

"Yeah."

After he was gone, Abby pulled out her phone and looked at it nervously for a full minute. She'd _never_ seen Tim so angry...certainly never so _expressively_ angry. She bit her lip for a moment and then began dialing Tim's number. She could have used speed dial, but she wasn't in a hurry this time.

She listened to the ring and took a deep breath just as Tim answered.

"Tim?" she said, nervously.

She was right to be nervous. The tears started as Tim's bitterness poured out through the phone. When he finished, she was silent for maybe a second before she tried to speak.

"Wait! Tim, don't hang–" There was a click. "–up." Abby sank to a stool. "What did I do?" she asked the empty lab.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I am going to talk to him," Ziva announced. She looked over at Gibbs. They could work with the generators, but not on everything. "If you try to insist that I stay and work, I will quit as well...although I will not throw my badge."

Gibbs said nothing, and Ziva stood, looked at Tony, asking silently if he wanted to come with her. He refused to meet her eyes.

"Fine. _I _will go and try to find out what is wrong." Then, she was gone.

Tony looked up after she left.

"Boss?"

"What, DiNozzo?"

"What are you gonna do?"

Gibbs looked up. "About what?"

"About McGee...quitting."

"He made his decision."

Tony hesitated, looked down and then looked back up. "Somehow...from the way he...from what he said...I think we might have made the decision for him. ...even if I have no idea how."

"Go home, DiNozzo. You won't be getting any more work done today...and it's late enough as it is."

"Okay, Boss." He stood, grabbed his coat and was halfway to the exit when he stopped. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

Tony smiled faintly and gestured toward his cheek. "You know...your battle wound?"

They both knew that wasn't what he'd been asking about.

"Yeah. Fine. Go home, Tony."

"'Night, Boss."

Alone in the bullpen, Gibbs looked again at Tim's badge...that had been turned into a weapon. He figured he knew Tim about as well as anyone did, probably better than Abby did at this point...maybe not so well as Ziva. She and Tim had a close friendship, and had since the beginning of her tenure at NCIS. It was no surprise to him that she was the one determined to have a face-to-face conversation. Other than Ziva, though, he knew Tim better...better than Tim probably realized, and yet, he understood now, now that it was too late, that he had made a gross error in his confrontation...in all of his interactions with Tim during the last few days. He had seen Tim's worry, but he had allowed himself to be sucked in by Tony's explanation and Ziva's gentler teasing. Something in Tim's eyes told him that whatever was wrong was infinitely more serious than a girl. ...and he had missed it, so intent on getting his job done that he had missed the problems staring him in the face.

He knew that Tim got annoyed by Tony's behavior, but he generally rolled with it...and occasionally gave back as good as he got. He'd been growing increasingly frustrated with Abby, but Gibbs wasn't sure why that was. No, there was something that had pushed Tim over the edge...and he just didn't know what it was...and that bothered him. Tim was a part of his team. He should _know_ what was wrong...at least enough to be able to address the problem adequately. That was his job. He wasn't omniscient, but a sincere question would probably have done the trick. ...and he hadn't been willing to take the time.

...and this badge sitting on his desk was the result.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva drove to Tim's apartment, knowing somehow that they'd all missed something important. Tim didn't mind the teasing. The two of them were friends. Even Tony was a friend. So what had happened? ...and why had he not told her what was wrong?

The look in Tim's eyes was not just anger. There had been more than anger, more than fury. That had certainly been the dominant emotion, but she was adept enough at reading emotional states to know that Tim had been hurt and afraid. She pulled up near his apartment but parked down the street slightly; so that he couldn't see her red car and avoid her.

As she got out, the rain started falling. She got back into the car and reached for her omnipresent umbrella. It was a trick she'd learned after living in London for a while. Always be prepared.

_What will I say to him?_ she wondered, suddenly worried about the nature of her reception. Then, she dismissed her worry as spurious and stepped out into the rain.

Ziva was surprised to see Tim standing on the sidewalk in front of his building, no rain coat, no umbrella. He was just staring...at nothing, it seemed. Her worry increased.

"McGee!" she called.

He heard her. She knew that much, but instead of acknowledging her call, he turned away and hurried to his car. Ziva moved after him and was slowed down by a car driving by, splashing her with enough water to break her stride. Then, he turned back and looked at her. She faltered. As he shouted at her, she found herself slowing to a stop, her umbrella falling uselessly to the side.

"McGee! Wait!"

He didn't. He didn't wait. He didn't stop. He drove away. Something was _really_ wrong if he wouldn't even talk to her...not even to yell. She shivered and walked back to her car, feeling a desolation that surprised her. It surprised her that Tim could have felt so strongly about whatever it was and not have mentioned it to anyone...not to her, not to Abby, not to Gibbs. No one seemed to know.

_...and we never asked._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Jethro, Ziva called me in concern for Timothy, and after talking to him myself, I must say that I agree with her. What could have caused this?"_

Gibbs grimaced, although he wasn't sure if it was because of Ducky's words or because Abby was currently sitting in his kitchen, on the floor, holding a smelly wet German shepherd.

"I don't know, Ducky."

"_You have no idea? Jethro, anger of the sort Timothy is expressing can hardly have come up out of nowhere!"_

"I know."

"It's all a big mistake, Gibbs," Abby said, hugging Jethro tightly. "Tim wouldn't ever say that he hoped Jethro died. He wouldn't! He loves Jethro!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and didn't answer her.

"_You should at least _try_ to talk to him, although it appears that his desire to cut himself off from us has been universally applied."_

"I will, Ducky. I promise," Gibbs said and hung up.

"I mean, Jethro's a _dog_. You can't hate dogs. It's like hating...a...a baby...a really cute baby. A dog is the most faithful friend _ever_. This is just a joke. A bad one, I'll admit, but a joke. It's not real."

"Abby..." Gibbs said and paused. He'd never said this to her before, but now was the time. "Abby, shut up."

Abby did so...mostly out of shock as Gibbs dialed Tim's number. He forced himself to remain completely calm as he talked to Tim. As Tim's voice rose, his did not, but he was surprised at the tears he could hear in Tim's voice when he accused Gibbs of not seeing.

"See what?" he asked, in genuine confusion.

Tim didn't answer...but he didn't hang up...and that meant that Gibbs was treated to the worst few seconds that could ever occur in the life of someone who had been a parent. He listened to Tim's car crash. There was no shout or scream from Tim. In fact, there was total silence from the single occupant of the car. No, what Gibbs heard was the clunk as the phone hit the floor, the scream of twisting metal and then a final anticlimactic click that said the phone had been destroyed.

In horror, Gibbs pulled the phone away from his ear, wondering if he'd just been the only witness to Tim's death.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Gibbs forced himself out of that mindset. He didn't know if Tim was dead. There was no reason to assume he was. He disconnected and tried calling again. He got the out of service sound. Again, fear twisted his gut.

"Abby...can you track a phone...if it's been destroyed?"

Abby sounded slightly huffy when she answered. "How destroyed are we talking about?"

"As in...it's never going to work again."

"Why?"

Gibbs faced Abby. "Just answer the question, Abby!"

"Why?" she asked, huffiness gone. "Why are you asking me?"

"I think McGee just got into an accident."

Abby stood up quickly, releasing Jethro...who managed to convey deep relief in being freed from her embrace.

"No. No, Gibbs. No, Tim did not just get in an accident...call him again."

"Abby, I just did."

"Call him again!"

"Abby, he won't answer. There's no signal."

Abby stared at Gibbs for a long moment and then she shook her head. "I can't find him, Gibbs," she whispered. "Not if the phone is destroyed. There needs to be a signal, even dormant. There's a slight chance that the GPS chip wasn't...messed up...but...but if the rest of the phone is... Where is he?" she asked, as a tear made a track down her cheek, dark with mascara.

"I don't know," Gibbs said, and although he didn't show it, that was the hardest thing he had to admit...that a member of his team was in peril and he had no idea where he was. "Let's try and find out." He held out a hand to her and she took it briefly before pulling him into a hug.

"What if he's–?"

"He's not," Gibbs said with more confidence than he felt. "Let's find him."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was easier said than done. Gibbs called Tony and Ziva, neither of whom could tell Gibbs where Tim was likely to go. When he and Abby reached NCIS, Tony and Ziva were already there...impressive considering how close Gibbs was. They must not have gone home. Immediately, they began searching for some clue of where Tim could be, where he might have been headed. Gibbs could hardly put out a BOLO for the entire East Coast...well, he _could_. It wasn't like that wide a search hadn't been done before, but in this case, it seemed silly to do so. Tim wasn't likely to go traveling. ...but as soon as he'd thought that, Gibbs mentally crossed it out. Up until this evening, he wouldn't have thought Tim likely to become violent...for _any_ reason. He called out the BOLO.

Unconsciously, his fingers probed the nick on his cheek. It wasn't serious. It had stopped bleeding after only a minute or two. There was a bruise forming but it was minor. It was what it illustrated that meant more. Tim had been pushed over the edge by his team, his friends. Gibbs remembered the sound of Tim's voice on the phone. It mirrored the anger, the...the _hurt_, Gibbs realized now. Tim had not only been angry with Gibbs. Something about these last few days had left him feeling...damaged by the team's interactions with him.

_Why? What was different?_ Gibbs asked himself. He agreed with Tony's summation, but he also agreed that the reason _why_ they had managed to push him so far was unclear.

Abby came up from her lab, glumly reporting that there was no way she could track Tim's phone. It must have been totally destroyed...in a really bad accident.

"How bad?" Tony asked.

Abby just glared at him and sat down at Tim's desk, absently fiddling with his keyboard.

"But _where_ is he?" Ziva asked. "If he were in such a bad accident, why have we not heard anything?"

Tony silently pointed to the window but dropped his hand quickly when everyone noticed it was trembling slightly.

"It's raining cats and dogs out there. People who don't have to be outside aren't...and people who do aren't paying attention."

"To a car accident?"

They were dancing around the seriousness of whatever had happened to Tim. No one wanted to address it directly. They couldn't. Abby was the one who finally voiced what they were all thinking.

"What if he died? It will be like _we_ killed Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a very long night. No one even thought about leaving NCIS. They checked the BOLO every two minutes. Tony was hooked into emergency dispatch. Every time a call went out for a car accident, he would stiffen, only to relax in a combination of relief and disappointment. It wasn't Tim.

Finally, at around four in the morning, everyone dozed off. It was hard to stay awake, even as worried as they were. Even Gibbs fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phone rang at seven a.m. and Gibbs sat bolt upright.

"Gibbs, NCIS."

"_Oh, Agent Gibbs, I'm so sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning, but I've been up all night and I'm getting worried. Tim's not answering his phone."_

"Who is this?" Gibbs asked, not fully awake. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others awaken and listen intently.

"_This is Naomi McGee, Tim's mother. We met a couple of years ago. Tim gave us your number as emergency contact if it was needed. Is this a bad time?"_

"No, Mrs. McGee. What can I do for you?"

"_Well, I was so sure that Tim would be here by now. He was going to leave right after work, and I figured that you wouldn't hold him later unless it was absolutely necessary. Tim speaks so highly of you all. I was sure you'd understand."_

Gibbs winced. "What do you mean, Mrs. McGee?"

"_Well, I'm sure Tim told you about Sam."_

"No. What is it?"

There was a long pause. _"Tim never told you? I don't understand. He's described you all as his second family. I told him not to spread it around, but that's kind of a family joke. Sam likes to introduce himself to people and then whisper to them that he's paralyzed and that they shouldn't tell anyone else. Tim wouldn't tell most people, but the people he works with... Tim can be annoyingly reticent, but...but this is serious enough, I never thought..."_

"What happened?"

"_Sam, Tim's father, he had a DVT, threw the clot and...and he's been in the hospital ever since. Tim was so worried. He wanted to come right away, but...but he has a job to do and Sam would hate it if Tim used up his last leave days just to sit by his father's sickbed."_

Gibbs rubbed a hand over his face. It made so much sense, now he thought of it. The last time Tim had quit NCIS had been over a family member. There was something about Tim and family. Family always came first...even ahead of the job he loved and the law he upheld. He couldn't fathom why Tim hadn't mentioned it to them, but he could at least see where the emotion had come from. A good half of it had probably been anxiety...and guilt. Guilt for the accident fifteen years ago and guilt about staying in DC, away from his family.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"_Yes...eventually. It might be a while yet. Sam's had quite a few thromboses in the last few years and it has the doctors worried, but Sam is tough enough to buck the trends."_ The certainty in her voice faded a little. _"He had another DVT once before. It nearly killed him. When the clot begins to move, everything happens so fast. That's why I assumed Tim would be here. Is he there? Can I speak to him?"_

"I'm sorry, Mrs. McGee, but McGee isn't here. He...left last night. It was fairly late, though, and there was a big storm. Maybe he stopped somewhere." Gibbs felt the incredible irony in what he was saying. Darn right Tim had stopped. He just couldn't bring himself to add to Naomi's worry when he didn't even know how badly she _should_ be worried.

"_I don't think he would have stopped for anything, Agent Gibbs. It killed him to stay even the three days before the weekend."_

"We'll look for him, Mrs. McGee. I promise."

"_And you'll call if...when you find him?"_

"Unless he gets to you first."

"_Thank you, Agent Gibbs. It's hard enough worrying about Sam. Tim has always been...he's the oldest. He's the only boy. He takes his responsibilities to his family very seriously."_

"I'll let you know when I find out."

"_Thank you."_ There was a brief pause and a flurry of sound on the other end of the line. _"Oh, no. I have to go, Agent Gibbs. Please call me."_ Then, the line went dead.

Gibbs wondered what could have just happened, but he was satisfied that he definitely couldn't do anything about people 600 miles away in Ohio. He looked around at the anxious faces.

"What was that, Boss?" Tony asked.

"McGee was probably headed to Ohio. His father has been in the hospital for the last four days."

There was dead silence, much like the silence left in the wake of Tim's departure. The significance of the date, the meaning behind Tim's behavior, it all crystalized into a horrible understanding and a realization that all of this could have been avoided...well, not all, but probably a great deal of it.

They didn't say it, but they thought it: _If I had only known..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance ordered them all home two hours later. He was sympathetic to their worries but refused to allow them to stay any longer, pointing out that any results from the new BOLO would be forwarded to Gibbs. If they were going to fall asleep at their desks, they might as well fall asleep at home where the sleep could do them some good.

They tried to argue, but in the end, their exhaustion was their own worst enemy as none of them had the energy to continue fighting against Vance's edict. As they left NCIS, there was a strange sort of reticence to stay in each other's company. Their mutual feelings of guilt subconsciously conspired to make them wish for solitude.

So they looked at each other and awkwardly separated.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Hello, may I speak to an Agent Gibbs?"_

...and that was why Gibbs was alone when Maryland State Police called looking for Tim's boss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It had been a busy night in the ER, with people getting in car accidents, running off the road because they were driving too fast for the conditions, but thankfully, now that the storm was over, things were slowing down. Julia Gneiting, a nurse at Garrett County Memorial Hospital, was nearly at the end of her shift and was definitely looking forward to getting some sleep.

"How's our mystery man?" the nurse at the welcome desk asked.

Julia glanced at the board. "He's not a mystery man. He has a name, ID, address."

"Isn't he the one who said no one cared about him?"

She nodded, feeling the pang that accompanied that memory. Just before they had taken him to the OR for surgery, she had asked him whom she could call. He had said no one.

"I think I'll check on him before I go."

"Don't let yourself get sucked in!"

Julia grinned. "I won't...but no one should feel like they're alone. If I can help that a little bit..."

"I know. I know. We don't just heal their bodies."

"We shouldn't do just that."

"Well, let me know."

Julia smiled and nodded. She began to walk toward Recovery and passed an older man who was headed to the counter. She gave half an ear to the conversation.

"How can I help you, sir?"

"I got a call from the Maryland State Police. A...member of my team was brought here this morning."

"His name?"

"Timothy McGee."

Julia turned around before she could be called.

"You know Timothy McGee?"

The man turned to her and nodded.

"I'm just on my way to check on him. Would you like to come with me?"

There was a strange hesitation, as if the man was second guessing his decision to come at all. Then, he nodded and walked down the hall to join her.

"How is he?"

"Well, he came out of surgery about an hour ago. They're keeping him in Recovery for a while longer, just to make sure there's nothing they missed, side effects from the anesthesia. I'm Julia. I was on duty in the ER when they brought him in."

"Jethro...Gibbs. I'm his boss."

"I wonder why he didn't think to have us call you." Julia left the words hanging almost as a question and noticed a sad smile cross Gibbs' face.

"Probably because he pretty much hates me at the moment."

"Why?"

"A long story...a series of misunderstandings...and blindness."

"He's right in here," Julia said, gesturing. "Normally, I'd have you wait until he was moved to a room, but I think he needs someone with him when he wakes up. He was so certain that no one cared about him."

It might have been her imagination, but Julia was sure Gibbs had winced.

"He might not appreciate me being here. I'll just hang back a bit."

Julia was going to protest but then decided against it. Instead, she walked over to Tim's bed and pulled out his chart, nodding to the recovery nurse.

"He should be waking up any time now," she said. "It looks as though there weren't any major complications."

"Major? What about minor complications?" Gibbs asked.

Julia looked at him. The worry on his face was more than that of a boss. It was almost parental and certainly tinged with guilt. His expression was almost wooden, in the way that some people got when they didn't want to show their emotions, but he couldn't hide it all.

"Minor complications are to be expected with any surgery. Timothy came in with moderate hypothermia, severe internal bleeding, two bruised ribs and multiple concussions. They used internal lavage to bring up his body temperature and had to perform surgery right away to stop the bleeding. Timothy required multiple blood transfusions to replace the blood lost. His body was worn down by the trauma and thus the doctors had to worry about the strain they were placing on him by conducting any surgery at all. They were also worried about swelling of the brain because he was hit in the head twice in a short period of time."

"And?"

"And he crashed, twice, on the table. They had a hard time stopping the bleeding, but they did. There's no sign of significant swelling, and the ribs were only bruised, not cracked. It will still be painful, but at least Timothy won't have to worry about puncturing a lung."

Gibbs did nothing more than nod. Julia couldn't blame him for being worried by the litany. It was easy to believe that Tim had almost died, looking at him now. There was a four-inch cut across his forehead, closed with black sutures. He had two black eyes from the air bag that had probably saved his life. Even though she had never seen him hale and hearty, she could easily guess that the pale and shrunken man lying on the bed looked very different from his normal appearance. Then, slowly, Tim's eyelids fluttered open and he stared at her blearily before the lids fell closed again.

"Timothy?" she asked gently. "Timothy, can you open your eyes again?"

Obediently, Tim opened his eyes, not really focusing on her. He began to shiver.

"What's wrong?" Gibbs whispered from behind her.

"Shivering is normal," the recovery nurse said and picked up a blanket, placing it gently over Tim's body.

"How are you feeling, Timothy?" Julia asked.

Tim made a noise, but it didn't resemble any language Gibbs knew. Julia just smiled.

"Any pain?"

There was a slow awkward nod and the recovery nurse went off to get some analgesics.

"Is it severe?"

Tim shook his head as slowly as he'd nodded it.

"Kind of blunt?"

Nod.

"Okay. We'll get you taken care of. Don't worry. Now, I need you to follow my finger with just your eyes. Can you do that?"

Tim's eyes flickered shut, but they opened again. Julia began to test his optic responses. His eyes followed, albeit slowly.

"Good, Timothy. Do you remember what happened?"

"Acc-dennn," Tim mumbled.

"Yes. You were in a car accident."

Abruptly, there was more awareness in his eyes, although not much.

"Dad?"

"Your father wasn't with you, Timothy. Do you want us to call him?"

"Cn't...gone...go..." There were obviously words (and syllables) missing from Tim's speech.

"You can't go anywhere just yet. You have a visitor. Would you like to see him?"

Tim sighed and his eyes closed again.

Julia gestured for Gibbs to come close. He seemed reluctant.

"He may not even recognize you right now. Temporary amnesia happens with general anesthesia occasionally. He remembers bits and pieces...and he probably remembers emotions more than events. He'll remember feeling alone. You came because you care, right?"

Gibbs didn't answer. His eyes were on his agent.

"If you care, let him know. He'll remember...even if he hates you again when he really wakes up. He'll remember that you were here." Julia smiled encouragingly and watched as he hesitantly walked over to Tim's bed. This was a man who wasn't usually hesitant, she could tell. She'd seen people like him before. They were always certain, always _doing_, never watching. It was hard for him to be here.

Tim's eyes opened and stared at Gibbs, but he wasn't really seeing him. It was obvious.

"Hey, McGee."

Tim blinked at him slowly. There was no hatred, no anger in his eyes, just pain, confusion and the residual anesthetic that was clouding his mind.

"...don't let me go," he said, his voice almost clear...even if the content wasn't.

Julia watched as Gibbs made his decision. There was no more hesitation.

"I won't let you go." He sat down and took Tim's hand. "Not this time, McGee."

Tim's eyes slipped closed again.

"Exactly," Julia whispered and left Gibbs there, pausing only to speak to the nurse and make sure it was all right for Gibbs to stay.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_They're going to kill me for leaving them behind,_ Gibbs thought to himself as he stared at Tim. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't even considered calling the team until he was more than halfway to Oakland. As soon as he had finished speaking with the officer, he had been in his car, making the nearly two-hundred mile trip considerably faster than the usual three-hour drive. It was only when he had been walking into the hospital that he had paused to call, not mentioning that he was already there, not telling them anything but that Tim had been found and taken to a hospital in Maryland.

_If I'm really honest,_ Gibbs thought, _it's because I wanted to be here first. I wanted to see McGee without having to pretend that I don't feel responsible._ He did feel responsible. His blindness had turned what would have been a stressful trip anyway into complete disaster. Tim shouldn't have had to quit to get to his family. He shouldn't have felt so isolated that he couldn't tell anyone what was going on.

Tim had been moved into a room but the drugs they had given him sent him to sleep again...still holding onto Gibbs' hand. It was too much to hope that Tim would forget his fury when he woke up...and in reality, he shouldn't. He deserved to let it out if it would help.

He only hoped it _would_.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim felt distinctly confused when he woke up. He knew that he wasn't in Ohio. ...but that was all he knew for certain. He couldn't keep straight whether or not his dad was there. He couldn't remember why he had this latent fury taking up space in his brain. He couldn't remember why he was surprised to feel someone holding his hand. That, at least, could be solved.

Tim opened his eyes and stared at the hand holding his. Then, he asked his eyes to move upward and they did so...slowly. He winced as he felt a twinge of pain, but when he found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes, his memory of the last day returned and put the physical pain out of his mind.

He pulled his hand away.

"What are you doing here, Boss?" he asked, annoyed that his voice was so quavery. He was mad and wanted to yell.

"Sitting," Gibbs said calmly.

Tim took a deep breath and winced again.

"Why?"

"I was worried. You had a car accident while talking to me on the phone. You think I wouldn't care about that?"

"You didn't care before," Tim said. "Why start now?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, come on, B-Gibbs," Tim said, anger giving him strength. "You've _never_ cared. The only time you ever did was when my crappy life might have made you lose your grunt. Even then, it wasn't for me. It was for the situation. You didn't care that Tony was making my life miserable. You didn't care when I did _exactly_ what you wanted me to do. I run myself into the ground trying to get what you need...and when I don't? _I'm_ the one at fault. You blame _me_, not the data, not the request that _you_ made. You don't care at all about how I feel. You care about what you can get out of me. Now, you're here and you act like nothing's changed...and you're right in a way. Nothing _has_ changed. I'm still nothing, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of sacrificing my life for a job that no one cares about...for people who don't think of me as a human being, only a human computer, a dog owner, a social failure...a _geek_! I'm not going to stand it anymore."

"Are you sure that's the reason you quit?" Gibbs asked.

Tim exhaled in a combination of physical and emotional pain. "Why else would I quit?"

"Why didn't you tell us about your dad?"

"How did you find out?" Tim asked, trying to be stone-faced. It was hard with the twinges of pain that were becoming more insistent.

"Your mother called. She's worried."

Tim tried to sit up, groaned a little and couldn't resist when Gibbs pushed him back down.

"What did you tell her?" he asked, breathlessly.

"I didn't tell her you were in an accident, if that's what's worrying you."

Tim felt the anger begin to churn again. Just like always. They only showed up when they felt guilty.

"Thank you. Now, you can go."

"Is that what you want?"

Tim let out a laugh. "You think this makes everything okay? You think because you took the time to drive over here and stare at me that nothing else matters? Do you honestly think that because you can feel sorry for me about my dad...that...that you're excused for everything else? Well, you're wrong. I don't care that you're here. I didn't _ask _for you to be here. I've _never _asked for you to show up when things go wrong. Never. And yet, the only time any of you can pretend to care is times like this. The only time you treat me like a human being is when I'm miserable...and sometimes not even then. Well, I...I don't want that. Do you understand? I. Don't. Want that."

"What _do_ you want, then, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Another stab of pain made Tim close his eyes for a moment, but he was angry enough that he didn't stop. "I want you to leave. I quit for a reason. I don't want to see you, listen to you, do your work, endure caring about people who don't care about me. Nothing." He paused. "Are we clear?" he asked and by the flicker of surprise, Tim knew that Gibbs had remembered what he'd said to Tim...and the situation which had caused it. "Are we clear, Gibbs? You can keep the badge. I don't want it."

Then, before Gibbs could do more than stand up, the pain Tim had been feeling suddenly surged into outright agony. He couldn't hold back the spasm, the reaction of grabbing his abdomen and moaning between pained gasps.

"McGee!"

Gibbs was there, and Tim, even in the midst of the throes of agony, tried to push him away.

"Leave me alone!"

"No, I won't do that." Gibbs straightened and strode from the room.

Tim could faintly hear him calling for help. It took mere seconds...but they seemed to last for hours and Tim felt Gibbs beside him again. The anger he still felt kept him from seeking some measure of comfort from his former boss, but he couldn't stop the tears of pain from streaming down his cheeks. When the doctors arrived, Tim felt himself being laid flat on his back. It took all his willpower not to curl up into a little ball as they poked and prodded him. That lasted only seconds as well, but again, seemed to take an eternity.

"What's wrong with him?"

There was no direct response from the doctors. They contented themselves with their medicalese and began to wheel Tim from the room. He grabbed one of the many arms.

"Wait!" he gasped.

"We don't have time, Timothy."

"Wait!" Then, his eyes sought Gibbs'. He gritted his teeth against the surge of pain as he tried to lift himself up. "Don't...don't call my mother."

"Timothy, stay down!"

Tim ignored them, ignored their insistence. "You hear me, Gibbs? ...if you care at all... Don't tell her!" A stabbing pain laid him flat again and he allowed them to wheel him away, writhing on the bed. Once in the operating room, a doctor leaned over him.

"Timothy, your spleen has ruptured. We're going to go in and repair it. If it's too badly damaged, we may have to remove it completely. Do you understand?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay, let's get going. We don't have a lot of time."

It was a distinct relief to be put out by the anesthesiologist...an escape in more ways than one.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"What happened?" Gibbs asked, shaken by the abrupt change from anger to pain.

"You're a friend of Timothy?"

Gibbs shrugged, knowing that Tim would _definitely_ not put him in that category...even on a good day.

"His spleen ruptured."

"How? He was just laying there."

"There can be a delay between the cause of the rupture and the actual rupture. Pressure builds and rushes out all at once."

"Is he going to be all right?"

The nurse smiled. "They caught it quickly. That's generally a good indication of how things will go. It's serious. I won't pretend it's not, but don't lose hope. He has a good chance. You can go to the waiting room. Someone will be out when they finish."

Gibbs nodded and walked out. There didn't seem to be any point in blustering about something he couldn't change. As he walked out, he found himself unexpectedly gripped by an unfamiliar sense of indecision. As a parent, he knew that Naomi would want to be informed that her son was in such serious condition...but he also understood why Tim didn't want her to be told. ...and Tim had asked...no, he had _demanded_ that Gibbs not tell her. Tim didn't make demands, but Gibbs had to admit that the one he'd just made was a terrible one.

_...if you care at all..._

That was the crux of the matter. Gibbs _did_ care, but he knew that Tim shouldn't be trying to deal with the physical trauma of his accident alone, and he wasn't likely to reach out to his former coworkers.

_Don't ever hesitate because you secondguess yourself again. I'll take your badge! Are we clear?_

He'd been angry, furious, in fact, when he'd said those words to Tim three years ago. He'd been angry in the way a parent gets angry when his child has just put himself in danger. ...and more than that...because Tim should have _known_ better. He could still remember the feeling of rage when Tim had just stood there, his hand on Gibbs' backup weapon. Just standing. He'd shouted at him and left him standing there, staring at Archer's body. Tim had been totally overwhelmed and Gibbs had left him there, offering not one word of comfort to a man who was faced with the uncertainty of whether or not he'd killed an innocent man and the certainty that his inactions had nearly caused the death of another innocent man. ...and in retrospect, Gibbs also knew that he'd made a near-fatal mistake in taking Tim along. His reasons had been good, but Tim had not been in a state to handle the stress involved.

...but they'd never mentioned it again. Not once in the three years following that day. Gibbs had mostly forgotten about it. Tim hadn't hesitated again...at least, not in Gibbs' sight. He'd grown up. He'd needed someone to be tough on him to get him to reach his potential.

_Isn't that what boot camp is for? We break them down to build them up again?_ Gibbs asked himself. Another voice piped up from its hiding place deep down inside. _But McGee isn't in the military. He didn't go to boot camp, not even to ROTC. He's never been in battle. He went to MIT. The worst he ever faced was bullies...and Tony. He wasn't raised to think that way._

Gibbs sighed and pulled Tim's badge out of his pocket, turning it over and over in his hands. He'd screwed this up in a fairly major way, he had to admit. They all had, but he felt most responsible. He'd thought Tim had forgotten that exchange as thoroughly as he had. Obviously, he was wrong.

_Are we clear, Gibbs?_

If you didn't look into his eyes, you'd never know how much he was hurting...and it was sad how often they _didn't_ bother looking Tim in the eye.

"Boss! How long have you been here?"

Startled, although he managed not to show it, Gibbs looked up and saw the whole crew bearing down on him. None of them looked particularly happy. That didn't surprise him.

"Long enough for McGee to illustrate that he wasn't happy to see me...and is likely not going to be happy to see any of you, either, DiNozzo."

That brought them up short. Gibbs realized what had happened in their heads. They had pushed the events which had led to Tim's accident out of the way in the face of the seriousness of the situation at hand. It hadn't occurred to them that Tim would _not_ be doing the same.

"He's still mad?" Abby asked.

"That would be a definite yes, Abby."

Abby bit her lip and sat down on a seat without saying another word.

"Did he tell you _why_ he's so mad at us?" Tony asked.

"Yes, did he say anything?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs hesitated and then shook his head. It wasn't up to him to explain...and he didn't particularly want to expose them to Tim's perception of how they felt.

...but he didn't get to make that decision. Ducky did. He'd been looking at the others with an expression bordering on disbelief. Then, he let them have it.

"Can you all really _be_ so blind?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, genuinely confused.

Ducky sighed. "Ever since I spoke to Timothy, I have been thinking about what he said to me...and the answer is so obvious that I cannot believe that investigators and scientists as astute as you four generally are could miss the blatant clues to Timothy's problems."

"What is it, then, Ducky?" Ziva asked.

Ducky sighed. "I can certainly see why Timothy flew off the handle. Think about it. He has always born the brunt of the teasing in your team. No, not all of it, but the brunt. It's natural for there to be a whipping boy of sorts in a group...and Timothy is yours. He doesn't seem to mind it in the main, but you have shown a distinct blindness when it came to appreciating his limits."

"He never said–"

"Said what, Tony?" Ducky interrupted. "Would it have helped if he had told you that you had gone too far? Would you have desisted, Jethro, if he had told you that you were being unreasonable? Would you have acknowledged his strengths rather than played on his weaknesses, on his desire to please, Abigail? Realized that he may not see things the way you do...and that his point of view has just as much validity, Ziva?"

"We weren't that bad," Tony protested.

"Did you ever ask him what was wrong? Even once?"

"Well, no...but I said..."

"We teased him about being rejected," Ziva said softly. "We did not ask."

"And, in fact, it turns out that he had received news that his father was seriously ill. Deep-vein thromboses are not to be trifled with. They can cause death, sometimes so quickly that there is no time to get help. So...while you were teasing him, he was worrying about the life of his father, a man he is extraordinarily close to, a man we all had the pleasure of meeting."

"He could have said something," Abby whispered. "Why didn't he?"

"Do you blame him for saying nothing?" Ducky returned instantly. "Have you been showing any concern for him in the last few days, Abigail?"

Abby's shoulders hunched even though Ducky wasn't shouting. It was the tone, the disappointed tone, that was laying down the law.

"Yes, I believe that Timothy should have said something. He did you a disservice there. Not even you four are so callous as to beat someone when they're down."

That was so close to what Tim himself had said that Gibbs found himself as stung as Abby.

_...the only time any of you can pretend to care is times like this. The only time you treat me like a human being is when I'm miserable...and sometimes not even then. Well, I...I don't want that. _

"I know you all care for Timothy, no matter the circumstances, but your behavior does much to belie that...and with his worries, I understand why he would be so willing to attribute the worst to you...and why he is not yet willing to forgive you."

"Do you think he will, Ducky?" Ziva asked.

"That is up to him. I, myself, am certainly as guilty of turning a blind eye as the rest of you, and I highly doubt that my presence will be any more acceptable than yours...but I am not going to think about my guilt. I am thinking of Timothy's. That is why I will stay, regardless."

"McGee's?" Tony asked.

"Yes. You know how his father became paralyzed, Tony."

There was no verbal response, but Ducky looked around at them all, much like a British schoolmaster who has just reprimanded his wayward students. His expression was slightly satisfied as he sat down to wait.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_McGee knows I care,_ Tony thought. _I've had his back lots of times. When that computer girl died, when he thought he shot the cop, when...when Gibbs was caught in the explosion. It's not like he's always been the nicest to me. He's got in some low blows himself._

He stood up and walked to the window, staring out at what he could see of Oakland, Maryland. He wasn't all that impressed...and it didn't help that his mind was insisting on being honest when he wanted to see things in a different way.

_Does that really make it okay? Okay, sure, McGee's had a couple...a few digs that stung, but he actually felt bad about some of those. I, on the other hand, never did. Maybe a little, but I never said I did. Even if he didn't...does that make _my_ actions any better?_

Tony sighed and turned away from the window. He had seen that Tim was out of sorts and he'd used it to tease him...not to ask a simple, "How are you today, Probie?" and it shouldn't surprise him that once Tim allowed himself the luxury of being infuriated.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_I've been concerned about Tim,_ Abby insisted to herself. _When he shouted...I tried to call him and he hung up! Tim hung up on me! _Here she faltered. She knew why. Tim had shouted the reason at her and she had chosen to ignore it...because, as Ducky had said, she wasn't stupid. She knew how to put the clues together. The time frame. The moments. _Tim found out about his dad when I was yelling at him about Jethro. I was bugging him about a dog when he thought his dad might be dying. Some friend I am._

She stood up and roamed restlessly around the waiting area...finally ending up browsing in the gift shop, not for anything in particular. She knew that a teddy bear would not help. It was just a distraction.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva felt horrible. She, of all of them, ought to have noticed. Tony was too focused on teasing to notice problems, but she had noticed Tim's sudden change, but she hadn't wanted to take the time to find out what was wrong.

_I am no better than the others. I am supposed to be his friend, but I only teased. I did not bother to ask what was really wrong, even when I knew it could not be as simple as Tony had said._

She sat still, not shifting, not fidgeting...physically. Her mind was roving incessantly over the last few days.

_Why did I allow it to go so far? Have we all become so complacent, so sure of the setting that we feel we do not have to worry about it changing? How much of our concern here is simply because McGee's departure has changed things? Do we really care?_

What if Tim's declaration was right? Was torture and abuse all Tim got from them?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't think I've ever seen everyone so quiet," Jimmy whispered to Ducky. He'd come on his own, more than an hour after the others because they'd had to leave him a message. No one had dared ask just what had been occupying Jimmy on a Saturday. His answers were often a little weird. "What happened? ...besides with McGee and all...of course."

Ducky smiled. "I lectured them."

Jimmy looked around at the team and decided that, yes, they did bear the hallmarks of a Ducky-style verbal whipping. He'd been on the receiving end of a few himself and while they didn't happen often, when they did, they weren't easily thrown off.

"You know...I'm surprised McGee didn't quit sooner, really."

Now, it was Ducky's turn to be shocked. "What do you mean, Mr. Palmer?" He kept his voice low, but he was aware that Gibbs was listening. He wasn't facing them, not directly, but his head was turned slightly toward them. Listening, but not wanting to _look_ like he was listening.

"Haven't you noticed? He's been really frustrated lately. He tried not to show it most of the time, but I saw it on his face a few times. He gets left behind at headquarters a lot and I know that's not what he wants." Jimmy suddenly realized that his voice wasn't soft enough and he dropped it lower and leaned in...not that it really helped. "One night, a couple of weeks ago, we were at the bar...it was...after, you know." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, and I had said something about how dangerous his job was. McGee said that it was...for some people, but that he was only in danger of being the butt of everyone's jokes. ...I thought he was just joking, but he wasn't, not really. Then, the others came in and...it was amazing how quickly he pretended that he hadn't just been bothered by things."

"Why have you never mentioned this before?"

Jimmy smiled awkwardly. "I figured I was the last to know. I usually am."

Ducky smiled back. "This time, Mr. Palmer, I think you may have been the first."

Jimmy didn't reply at first but when a doctor walked into the waiting room, attracting everyone's attention, Ducky could have sworn he heard a soft "it's about time" from Jimmy's area of the room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're all here about Timothy?"

They looked at each other.

"Yes," Gibbs said. "How is he?"

"He survived the surgery. We were able to repair the damage without removing his spleen. He could function fine without it, but...it's better to keep it if possible. We're just moving him back to his room now. If you would like, he can have two visitors at a time. No more. Hospital policy."

Gibbs looked around and no one looked especially eager to see Tim and see him angry again. They wanted to see that he was okay, but they were actually afraid of confronting Tim's anger. He didn't blame them. He wasn't exactly excited to hear more of it himself, but it was necessary.

"I'll go first. We need to finish a conversation we'd started."

The doctor smiled. "He won't be saying much of anything for a while."

"I can wait."

"All right. Come with me."

Gibbs walked down the hallway in silence for a few steps...mostly until he was out of sight of the waiting room.

"Is McGee going to be all right?"

"He should be."

Ever alert to nuances, Gibbs stopped. "Should be?"

The doctor stopped as well. "Sir..."

"Jethro...Gibbs."

"Jethro, I know the nurse explained to you that there can be a delay between the damage and rupture...and that's true, but in this case, I wouldn't have expected a rupture. His spleen was bruised, but not so badly that we would be watching him as closely as we would have in other cases. Timothy isn't recovering like he should be."

"He was only in the accident last night."

"True, and it was bad, but...Jethro, I've been doing this for a long time, and when you work in places like this, you get a feeling for who's going to recover and who's going to have trouble. Timothy should have no trouble recovering. His injuries, while serious, were caught in time and repaired. He should be weak, yes, but recovering. He's not...and I can't tell you why. So...yes, he _should_ be all right...and he might be, but unless I'm greatly mistaken, it's going to take longer than it should based on his age and general health."

Gibbs nodded and began walking again. When he reached Tim's room, he saw his...former agent sleeping. He was pale as would be expected from such strain, but now, Gibbs found himself trying to see what else was wrong.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's stabilized now, Naomi."

Naomi sank weakly to her seat. Sarah put her arms around her and the two of them hugged each other tightly.

"Why is it so much worse this time?" Sarah asked.

"He's not as young as he was. The thromboses are becoming more prevalent."

"What are you saying? Is Sam going to die?" Naomi asked.

Dr. Chan sat down and smiled. "No, Naomi. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that it's harder for him to fight back. Once he recovers from this one, we have a new regimen to try."

"_Will_ he recover?"

"Yes."

If Dr. Chan had been even slightly less certain, Naomi wouldn't have believed him.

"When will he wake up?"

"That's up to Sam. He's always set his own schedule. I have no doubt he'll wake up when he's ready."

Naomi had to smile. Even Sarah managed a soft chuckle. They stayed where they were, hugging each other tightly even after Dr. Chan continued on his rounds. Naomi didn't say anything out loud, but inside she was worried...about more than just Sam.

_Tim, where are you?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Tim was disappointed when he opened his eyes. He knew it wasn't possible, but he had hoped, with his return to consciousness, that his father would be there, popping wheelies in his chair...or, since he was being delusional anyway, _walking_. He knew it wasn't possible, but it didn't keep him from wanting it. It didn't stop him from hating the sight of Gibbs looking at him. Resenting his presence...and more.

"Why are you still here?" he asked.

"The same answer as before, even if you won't believe it, McGee."

Tim just looked at him, unmoved. He was still unimpressed by Gibbs showing up now.

"Did you call my mom?"

"No."

Tim was silent for a few seconds. He didn't want to say the words, but he'd been raised to be polite.

"Thank you. ...you can go."

"No, I can't."

"Why? One last bid to tell me that I've made a mistake? Misunderstood? Don't bother."

Tim could have sworn he saw Gibbs smile...but then it was gone too quickly for him to be sure.

"No. I do think you've made a mistake, but there's something else."

"What?"

"You need to call your mother. If you don't, I will. I waited until you were awake, but if you refuse to call her, then I'll do it for you."

Tim shoved himself upright.

"You've no right."

"Yes, I do. I have a responsibility."

"No, you don't. Not anymore. I have nothing to do with your world anymore, Gibbs. It's not up to you to tell me what to do. You don't give me orders, and you don't have anything to do with me...unless I decide to kill someone who happens to be in the Navy."

"Your mother called, looking for her son. She's worried whether you want her to be or not. Right now, she has two people she's worried about: you and your father. For all she knows, you could be dead right now."

Tim's eyes moved away before he could stop them. He forced them back on Gibbs but knew that he'd caught the flicker.

"So...either you call her and tell her whatever you want to, or I'll call and tell her the truth. I don't care if you lie, but your mother deserves to know that you're alive."

Tim looked away again, toward the window. "I never could lie to her," he said softly, not really talking to Gibbs. "I never could manage it. She always knew."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gibbs reaching out. He moved away and yanked his mind back.

"Fine. I'll call her. Now, leave me alone. Go back to DC...and if anyone else showed up, you can take them with you." Tim turned his body as much as he could manage, blocking Gibbs out of even his peripheral vision. He waited until he heard him leave. Then, he looked back toward the door. He couldn't see him.

He reached over and picked up the phone beside his bed. It was...something he didn't want to do. Telling his mom why he hadn't shown up would only make her worry more.

_What am I going to say?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs stood just out of sight in the hallway...and listened to make sure Tim did as he'd been told.

"Hey, Mom."

He couldn't suppress a smile for the way Tim said those words. It was a tone that he hadn't heard in much too long. There was no anger, no resentment. Worry, pain...and sincerity. Something which Gibbs now realized had long been missing from Tim's speech.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it...no, I'm okay. I'm just...not going to be able to get home for...a few days."

Tim had been right. He couldn't lie to Naomi. No one could hear that and think that Tim wasn't holding something back.

"I can't explain right now...but _you_ tell _me_, why didn't you tell me Dad was in a coma?"

If Naomi hadn't told him, Gibbs wondered how he'd found out. There was a hint of anger in his question, but it was a different kind.

"Mom, that's a pretty important thing. I know Dad wouldn't have wanted me there, but I _should_ have been. You should have given me the choice. ...don't yell at Sarah, Mom."

There was an awkward pause and Gibbs heard Tim shift around in his bed.

"Yes, she...no, Mom. It's okay. Yes. It is. She...what Sarah said...no, it wasn't _nice_, but it was true. I needed the truth. The whole truth. ...and I would have come. NCIS doesn't mean anything to me, not at the expense of you guys."

Gibbs found himself wishing he could hear what Naomi was saying. He'd been impressed with her when he'd met her and her more recent concern, coupled with her attempt to maintain such a firm grip on her emotions, had touched him...reminded him of Tim.

"How is he now? What?" Tim's voice broke. "I wish I could be there. No, I'm fine. ...okay, no, I'm not, but don't worry. I'm alive, and I'll come as soon as I can. No, I don't know when that will be."

So...something _had_ happened after Naomi had called him.

"No, I'll have to call you. My phone broke. I haven't had time to get a new one. No, Mom. I'll call you. I will. I promise. Tell Sarah I'm sorry. Yes. I love you, too. Bye."

There was a click as Tim hung up the phone and then silence. Utter silence. It lasted long enough that Gibbs was about to walk in and find out what had happened when he heard Tim swear softly to himself.

"Why now?"

As much as he wanted to go into the room, Gibbs did not. He walked back to the waiting room...where he reported that, yes, Tim was still angry and he wanted nothing to do with them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Naomi hung up the phone and look at Sarah.

"When did you call Tim, Sarah?"

"Was that him? Where is he?" she asked, looking definitely uncomfortable under the weight of her mother's stare.

"I don't know where he is, but yes, that was him. He said he's not going to make it for a few days, but he wouldn't tell me why."

"He's probably working," she said bitterly.

"No, he's not. He left NCIS on Friday night. Something must have happened on the way, even if he won't tell me what it is."

Sarah didn't answer but she walked to the window, away from Sam's bedside.

"What did you say to him, Sarah?" Naomi asked. "Tim wouldn't tell me, but his tone was enough. What did you say?"

"I just asked him where he was," she hedged.

"Sarah Jane McGee, don't you lie to me," Naomi said. "What did you tell your brother that hurt him so much?"

"I said that he cared more about NCIS than about us," Sarah said to the window.

"How could you say that, Sarah? You know that nothing could be further from the truth. _You_, of all people in this family, should know that Tim cares more about us than he does about his job. He almost gave it up for _you_."

Sarah stayed staring at the window. "I know."

"Then, why did you say that to him?"

"I was just so worried."

"Tim was worried. _I_ was worried. I'm scared, Sarah, but I'm not trying to hurt anyone else."

"I just wanted him to come!" she burst out. "Tim should have been here before! I needed him to be here."

"You know that I told him to stay."

"I know."

"And you still tried to make him feel guilty enough to come?"

Sarah nodded, still staring at the glass.

"Sarah...I..." Naomi was speechless. She wasn't normally. She might not talk as much as Sam did, but she had a ready tongue.

"I blamed him," Sarah whispered.

"No, Sarah."

"I said it was his fault."

Naomi had been standing but that sent her onto her chair once more.

"Sarah, how could you...after all the years we spent trying to get Tim to realize that _wasn't_ true. How could you...deliberately hurt your brother like that? You know that nothing could hurt him more. After all he's done for you."

"I wanted him here," Sarah said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I knew he'd come...just to prove that I was wrong."

"He tried to come, Sarah," Naomi said. "But he's not..." She stood up. "I need a minute. Stay with your father."

"Mom?"

"I said I need a minute, Sarah. Stay here." Then, Naomi strode out of the room, searching for a place where she could fume...and maybe cry a little. Her long strides took her all the way out of the hospital and into the parking lot. She walked over to a bench, sat down and began to cry. She was now afraid that she was going to lose Tim and Sam both from this tragedy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The minutes turned into hours and no one dared venture back into Tim's room. The same people who faced criminals on a regular basis or processed evidence from gruesome crimes couldn't bear the thought of facing Tim's anger. Finally, Jimmy, who of all of them had no firsthand experience with Tim being angry at him...well, except when he and Abby had been glued together...but that was a long time ago...he stood and walked back, painfully aware of many eyes on his back. He kept walking and didn't turn around.

When he reached Tim's room, he knocked tentatively, even though the door was open.

"Yeah?" Tim's voice was dreary.

"Hey, McGee...can I come in?" Jimmy asked, poking his head into the room.

"Sure, Jimmy. You came with the rest of them, I suppose?"

"Well, I came a bit later. Are you feeling any better?"

"About what?" Tim asked sardonically. "About quitting NCIS, about my dad being in a coma, about being in an accident?"

"The last was what I meant."

"Oh." Tim shrugged. "Doesn't hurt as much as it did. I'm not stuck under a tree in a rainstorm. I'm moving up in the world."

"That's good..."

"You didn't have to come, Jimmy."

"I know. Don't tell Dr. Mallard, but I wasn't studying. I got a new DVD..._Best of Riverdance_. The way they move is absolutely amazing. I was thinking of getting into it."

Tim was staring at Jimmy rather the way one would stare at an alien. "It?"

"You know...the Irish jig," he said, grinning. "Lord of the Dance!" He did the classic Michael Flatley pose.

Tim couldn't help it. As miserable as he was, he had to laugh. The laughter didn't last long as it strained muscles that had already had too much strain, but he laughed.

"You're joking, right?"

"Oh, no. ...well, maybe the Lord of the Dance bit...but I figure that life's too short to not do things you've always wanted to try."

"You've always wanted to riverdance?" Tim asked skeptically.

"Well...no, but it sure looks cool, doesn't it?"

"I guess..."

"McGee..." Jimmy began.

"Don't, Jimmy. Don't even try."

"Okay."

Jimmy didn't stay much longer, but he stayed long enough to see that Tim _was_ still angry, but it was more than that. It was more, even, than just worry about his dad. He didn't know _what_ it was, in particular, but it was more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

No one else risked going back to see Tim that day. The sun moved slowly across the sky, making patterns on Tim's blanket...and he knew that they wouldn't leave. They never did what he told them to do. A doctor came in and checked him over. Tim barely paid attention. He wished his mom was there...but she needed to be with his dad. Tim figured that he'd recover...his father was not a certainty.

_Dad could die...and he shouldn't be alone...but I wish someone who really cared was here._

The sun finally set and Tim lay in the gathering darkness...alone.

Out in the waiting room, his former teammates waited...for what, they weren't sure, but they were waiting.

Gibbs wasn't sure about the others, but he was afraid that he would wait too long.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Visiting hours were over...and still the NCIS team was sitting in the waiting room. They honestly didn't know what else to do. What had happened was really out of their realm of experience. It was nearly ten o'clock when the nurse from the desk came over to them.

"There are a few motels in town. Since visiting hours are over, you might as well get some sleep," she suggested. She saw the resistance...automatic, she knew, since none of them had made the slightest effort to go back and see their...friend? Colleague? She had no idea what was going on, except from what she'd overheard from the oldest of them. "We can call if anything changes, but your...friend is more than likely asleep right now. He's recovering from two surgeries, plus his accident. That's enough to wear anyone out."

Ducky stood. "That sounds like a good idea. Any recommendations?"

She smiled. "If you're looking for something fancy, you're out of luck, but there's a Best Western and a Holiday Inn and a few local bed and breakfasts. I can give you a list, if you'd like."

"That would be lovely, thank you." Ducky walked to the counter with her and when he came back a few minutes later, he looked at the team and knew that it was pointless to stay longer. "I have the addresses for some nearby motels. I suggest that we leave."

"But what about Tim?" Abby said.

"Visiting hours are over. He does not want our company in any case. All we can do by staying here overnight is wear ourselves out."

The logic was too much to ignore. They all stood up and straggled out the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How long are we going to stay here?" Tony asked the group at large. Ducky had chosen to ride with Jimmy and Gibbs had his own car. The other three rode together.

"Does it matter?" Ziva asked. "I am beginning to think that it is useless to stay much longer. I did not think McGee could remain angry for so long."

"It's only been a day, Ziva," Abby said.

"No, it has been longer. It has been only a day since he _showed_ his anger. He was feeling it for a long time before that."

"How do you know?" Tony asked.

"Simple...because of just _how_ angry he is. It is a bitter anger. That type of rage can last. Anger that is sudden burns out much more quickly."

"You been taking lessons from Ducky?"

Ziva shook her head. "No. I have seen what comes of anger long hidden, Tony. I do not need Ducky to tell me."

"We can't just leave Tim here alone," Abby said.

"He is alone whether we are here or not. It will be up to him to let us in...and right now he is not interested."

"We didn't really try today, you know," Tony said as they neared the hotel. "We just sat back and watched. _Palmer _went. Gibbs went. We just sat around."

"I was afraid," Abby confessed.

"Yes."

"Not afraid...surprised," Tony qualified.

"You're surprised that Tim could be angry?"

"I've seen him get mad. I've never seen him like this, never _heard_ him like this." Tony saw the sign, with a small _vacancy_ blinking below it. "Here we are."

There were plenty of rooms available and the group checked in, stared at each other awkwardly and then scattered. Tony, Ziva and Abby went to their rooms. Ducky and Jimmy began talking about when they'd need to be back in DC, Ducky for work and Jimmy for class. Gibbs was silent, as usual. Long after Ducky and Jimmy went to their rooms, Gibbs sat down in the lobby, nursing a cold cup of coffee as he thought about what to do.

Unfortunately, he couldn't stop thinking about two things: first, that Jimmy Palmer, of all people, had noticed there was something wrong before any of the rest of them...and second, the words Tim had said to him just before they had whisked him away: _The only time you treat me like a human being is when I'm miserable...and sometimes not even then. _It was an exaggeration...wasn't it? He thought back over the years.

He remembered only twice when Tim had acted like his peer...when he had _treated_ him like a peer. Still, of all the events, he kept coming back to that moment right after Archer had nearly killed them both. It seemed to exemplify how Gibbs had treated Tim in general terms. Put him in a situation he can't handle and then yell at him when he can't handle it. Why should he be surprised that, just once, Tim decided he couldn't handle any more of it?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay, staring at the ceiling, counting the holes in each tile. He wasn't sure exactly _why_ this was the activity engaging him at present. The problem was that his eyes kept crossing and he'd lose count about halfway across. It was nicely mind-numbing to try and keep himself focused on that...rather than anything else. He didn't need to think about the muted pain around his midriff, the somewhat-sharper pain where they'd sliced into him to fix his spleen...the pain in his mind from the events of the last few days, the guilt he still felt, exacerbated by Sarah's all-too-pointed accusations.

He refocused on the ceiling.

_One...two...three...four..._

"Still awake, Timothy?"

Tim lost count again but the nurse was nice and he was happy to see someone he _wasn't_ angry at; so he pulled his gaze from the ceiling and smiled.

"Too much excitement," he replied.

"How's the pain?"

He shrugged. She sighed visibly, and he knew why. He kept insisting that the pain wasn't that bad...even though it did hurt.

"We can't treat you effectively unless you communicate effectively, Timothy."

"I don't really go by Timothy," he said.

"Well, I did notice that your friends all called you by your last name. Would you prefer–?"

"No!" Then, he realized how extreme his reaction had been. "I mean, no, I'd prefer just Tim."

"All right, Tim. That's fine. Now, how's the pain?"

"It hurts a little."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

Tim took a deep breath and winced.

"I'll see about getting you another dose."

"It's not that bad."

"Maybe, but effective pain treatment is important for preventing _other_ problems. If you're in enough pain that you can't take deep breaths, you can contract pneumonia which will only lengthen your hospital stay at best and at worst could kill you."

Tim swallowed and stared at the ceiling again.

"You really should try to get some sleep. That will also help you heal."

"I'm not really tired," Tim said, and the ensuing silence made him think that she'd left...but then, he heard a soft sound and he looked over to see the nurse setting her clipboard down and dragging a chair beside him.

"What's going on, Tim?"

"What do you mean? I was in a car accident."

"Yes, I know that. You had six people out in the waiting room today...but only one person in here. They all just sat down and waited...for what, I'm not sure. Your boss–"

"Former. I quit."

"Ah. Your _former_ boss comes in here and you not only don't seem happy to see him, but you also try to send him away. You call your mother but don't tell her what happened. Are you deliberately isolating yourself?"

Tim didn't answer.

"Tim...I have to ask. Were you trying to commit suicide when your car crashed?"

"No. I wouldn't do that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Tim nodded firmly to make sure she believed him. "My life isn't going so well right now...but I don't want to end it."

"You want to tell me about it?"

Tim was embarrassed to realize that he was almost crying at her kind question. "I..." He blinked furiously and looked away. "...I don't think you have enough time to hear about it."

"All right. If you need anything, that's what I'm here for."

"Thanks."

"I'll make sure you get some more painkillers. They'll probably make you a little groggy anyway."

Tim nodded and wondered why it was that she was so much more understanding than the people who were supposedly his friends...then, a thought struck him.

"Hey...um..." He craned his head to see her nametag.

"Alaia."

"Alaia, can I refuse visitors?"

"I suppose. Do you _want_ to?"

Tim nodded slowly at first and then more vigorously as he thought of how much easier that would make things. The anger was tiring and he didn't want to see them anyway. It would be better to make this a clean break.

"Yes. Those people who came to see me...I don't want them to get into my room. I don't want to see them. Can you do that?"

"I can certainly put in a note. I might be off shift by the time they come in the morning. Are you _sure_ you want to keep them out? They seem very concerned for you."

"They're not. Not really. I'm sure. I don't want to see them."

"Okay, Tim. I'll make sure that gets entered in your file."

"Thank you."

This time, Alaia really left and Tim turned his attention back on the ceiling tiles. It was a load off his mind to know that he wouldn't have to worry about someone he didn't want to see showing up suddenly in his room. The drugs were given and he continued to count the holes in the tiles. Finally, he was able to make his way across one tile. Sixty-six holes...and the tile was square. That meant figuring out just how many were on one tile would be easy. The square of sixty-six. He wasn't very good at multiplying the larger numbers in his head, but it was a worthwhile exercise. He and his friends had had contests back in the day, seeing who had memorized the most decimal places of pi, who could multiply this or that number. He smiled to himself, thinking of those long dispersed friendships. That seemed to happen to him a lot. Friendships just kind of faded away until even the faces of those friends began to go fuzzy in his mind.

In contrast, the faces of Tony, Ziva, Abby, Jimmy...all the people at NCIS...they were all very vivid in his mind, but it wasn't a comforting vision. It only served to cement the fact that people he'd thought were his friends...weren't anymore.

_4356 holes in a single tile,_ he thought. _That's a lot of holes. How many tiles are there on the ceiling?_

He fell asleep before he finished counting.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I was so mad at him, Dad," Sarah whispered. "I couldn't believe that he wouldn't drop everything to come here. I did. I'd had plans for the break and I left them all just to come home. Why didn't Tim? You understand, don't you?"

She looked at the still form that was usually so active and felt the too-ready tears come to her eyes yet again. She hated seeing her dad like this. Once had been bad enough. Every time he'd gone to the hospital since the accident, she had been afraid that it would be the last time, that this time, he'd actually die.

Tim had always told her she was wrong...and he was always right.

"I know it wasn't his fault. He knows it, too. He wouldn't..."

"Sarah, you should get some sleep."

The voice came from behind her, not from her father.

"I'm not tired, Mom."

"Sarah. Take my car and go home. I'm staying here tonight."

Sarah stood up and turned around. Naomi hadn't come into the room more than once since Sarah had told her what she'd said to Tim. She took the keys and walked to the door...but she stopped.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Sarah...I'm _not_ the one you need to apologize to," Naomi said, her voice soft, but firm. "Until you can apologize to him, you might as well not say the words because they don't matter unless they're said to the one who needs to hear them." She paused. "Good night."

"Good night, Mom. 'Night, Dad." Sarah left.

Naomi sighed after Sarah was gone.

"Oh, Sam. This keeps coming up, doesn't it." She leaned against the bed railing, took one of his hands and cradled it in her own. "Will this haunt us forever? ...or just until it destroys our son?"

There was no sound in the room beyond the machines which monitored his condition.

"I still remember, and you know I have no memory for the sayings you love so much, but I still remember what you said to Tim after you came home...after his graduation. He was questioning whether or not he should still go to MIT or stay home. He said it was because he wanted to help, but we all knew it was because he felt guilty about being able to live his own dreams while you were still figuring out how you were going to live at all. It was a quotation by Nicholas Rowe. 'Guilt is the source of sorrow, 'tis the fiend, Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behind With whips and stings.' I'm so tired of this. We can't help the medical problems. That's far beyond any of us...but...but why can't we help our son forgive himself? I'm afraid that's why he's not coming this time. Something is wrong and he won't say what it is. I only know that something happened, but I don't know what."

Carefully, Naomi wound her fingers through his, bringing the cold hand to her lips.

"Sam, you need to wake up. We need you. _I_ need you. _Sarah_ needs you. ...but most of all, _Tim_ needs to know that he hasn't hurt you...because he doesn't believe me."

There was no response and, softly, almost silently, Naomi began to cry.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The next morning..._

"Excuse me?" Gibbs asked, unsure he'd really heard the nurse correctly.

"I have a note that was added last night. Timothy McGee has requested no visitors...and he specified his former colleagues." She had the grace to look sympathetic to his surprise. "It happens sometimes, people are tired and just want to have rest."

"Wait...so McGee has said that he doesn't want _any_ of us to see him?" Tony asked.

"I'm afraid so. He was very clear. No visitors, no former coworkers, no one."

Gibbs turned away from the counter abruptly and saw the others arranged in front him, all with varying degrees of shock on their faces. Ducky and Jimmy looked less surprised than the other three. It was obvious that only now were they really understanding the depth of Tim's anger...as he himself was. Tim was breaking off all potential contact with them. No apologies, no shouting, nothing. No jokes to make the tension go away. No abject apologies to make up for previous rudeness. No stern talking-tos. Nothing.

"What do we do, then?" Abby asked, her face crinkling up in confusion and concern. "We can't just leave him here...all alone."

"I believe that is the best course of action," Ducky said. "Mr. Palmer and I will be returning to DC today in any case. I would assume that you all would have a job to do come tomorrow as well. If Timothy doesn't wish to see us, we should respect his wishes."

"But it's not right," Abby protested.

"Abigail, do you _really_ care for Timothy?"

"Of course, I do, Ducky! That's why I'm here."

"Then, why don't you try to do what _he_ wants you to do...not what _you_ want him to want?" Ducky walked past the speechless Abby, to the desk. "Hello, my name is Ducky...Donald Mallard. I am one of Timothy's former coworkers. I understand he does not want visitors, but I would like to leave my contact information. Just let him know that he may call me if he chooses to do so. Is that all right?"

The nurse smiled and nodded. "Certainly! I'd be happy to tell him for you."

"Thank you." Ducky wrote down his information and then, he turned back. "Mr. Palmer are you ready to depart?"

"Yes, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said, his voice soft but somehow stronger than Abby's protestations. The two left together.

"We...we can't just _leave_," Abby said again.

"I think we must," Ziva said, her eyes sad. "Ducky is right. This is what McGee wants. He knows where we are if he wishes to speak to us...and right now, he does not."

A large group of people suddenly entered through the main doors, all talking at once, all agitated. Under the cover of them (the nurse was overwhelmed by their requests for information), Tony looked at Ziva and Abby.

"I'm not going to leave without talking to him," he announced and turned and walked down the hallway.

"Tony!" Ziva said, hurrying after him. "He does not want to talk to us!"

Abby also followed, but she seemed as eager as Tony to invade. They reached Tim's room at the same moment. He was just sitting up and his expression was pained. Then, he looked up at the group...and the pain...didn't disappear. It merely changed into something else.

He looked at them and rolled his eyes. "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. You never did care about what I want, Tony."

"What are you doing, Probie?"

Tim's expression hardened. "I'm not your Probie, Tony. Not anymore. You have no right to refer to me by that appellation. That means name, nickname, moniker, in case you weren't aware. What I'm doing should be patently obvious, even to people as self-absorbed as you are." He included Abby and Ziva in his accusation.

"Tim!"

"Abby, why are you here? Who's taking care of Jethro?" He sighed. "Get out. Just go! I said I didn't want you here and I meant it. You ignore me all the time. Why stop now when I actually would prefer it?"

"We don't–" Abby started.

"Please, don't embarrass yourself by lying, Abby," Tim said, the bitterness thick in his voice. "Are you going to tell me that you were thinking of anyone but yourself when you forced me to hang up on my _mother_ a few days ago?"

Ziva said nothing. She merely lurked around by the door, regretting the events that had led to this cynicism, regretting that she had followed and seen the bitterness Tim felt expressed so cruelly.

Tim looked at them all, making eye contact with Ziva briefly before moving on.

"I told you that I never wanted to see you again. That hasn't changed. Please. Get out."

The silence following his pronouncement was prolonged. Ziva was the first to leave, followed by Tony and Abby, almost simultaneously. The three of them walked out together, noticing that Gibbs was nowhere to be found. They figured he must have left as well.

"Do you want to drive, Tony?" Ziva asked. "I will let you."

"It's my car, Ziva," Tony said.

"Yes, I know. I will let you drive your car."

Tony smiled faintly at the joke and nodded. "I guess we should go."

Abby looked back over her shoulder once before getting into the car.

Tim's former coworkers drove away...not knowing that Tim had watched them all leave from his window.

He had pulled himself out of bed and to the window as soon as they'd gone. He stared into the parking lot as they piled into Tony's car and drove away. He couldn't see any other cars he recognized either.

_Finally, they listened to me. For once._ And he wondered why he still felt so miserable.

"Should you be out of bed already?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tim suppressed the desire to swear. It was as though the mere thought of his former colleagues was directly connected to the rage center of his brain. The _presence_ of any of them made him churn with fury.

"Why can't you people just leave me alone?" he asked, not turning from the window.

"Because that's not what you need."

Tim turned...too quickly. He gasped and nearly lost his balance and fell. Strong arms supported him.

"I guess you _aren't_ ready to be out of bed," Gibbs said drily.

Tim pulled away and sat down. He'd needed the help, but he didn't _want_ it.

"Why are you here?" he asked, staring up at Gibbs. He would not be softened by the same tactics that always worked on him.

"There are some things you need to hear."

"There's nothing I need to hear from you anymore, Boss...Gibbs," Tim said and carefully swung his legs back onto the bed. "You have a job to do."

"What about you?"

"Like I said...I don't work for you anymore. None of your business."

"Are you really angry or are you just trying to stay that way?"

Tim let out an incredulous laugh, not looking at Gibbs. "You guys...you're the utter limit. I shout, quit...and somehow, it still doesn't matter. There must be a mistake somewhere...McGee couldn't possibly be _angry_," he said sarcastically.

"I shouldn't have taken you with me."

"What?" Tim looked at Gibbs in spite of himself. "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have taken you with me...when we went to arrest Archer. That was a mistake. I'm sorry."

Tim stared for a few seconds in confusion before memory clicked into place. "Archer? You mean that...that cop? That was more than three years ago, Gibbs. Why are you bringing it up now?"

"Because I didn't think about it until now," Gibbs said simply. "And it needs to be said. I made a mistake."

"Yeah. You did...and you blamed me for it."

"I was wrong."

"Darn right you were!" Tim said with some heat. "I didn't...I still don't know if I killed Detective Benedict. I'll probably never know...and you forced me to carry a weapon again...when I'd had no time to confront the idea that I might never know. What would have happened if I _had_ shot Archer? How would that have _looked_? I would have been responsible for the deaths of _two_ Metro detectives in as many days."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Tim gave a long sigh and said nothing.

"Why didn't you tell us something was wrong?"

"I know you think I should have. Maybe you're right. I know what would have happened if I had. Abby would have felt bad about berating me about Jethro. Tony would have backed off with the jokes. Ziva would have been supportive. Even you might have been a little more understanding."

"So why didn't you?"

Tim felt the frustration build again. "Because that is the problem, Boss! You come in here, after I specifically said I didn't want visitors, and you apologize for something you did three years ago...something that didn't bother you in the slightest until something else happened to me. Sure, Tony came to my place when that happened...and do you know how he started? He ignored my request that he leave me alone, that he not not make fun of me...he made fun of my clothes, invaded my privacy...until I yelled at him. That's when he first figured out that I was serious. Then..._then_, he felt like he had to be nice. Abby thought it was sweet that he stayed over, trying to make me feel better. ...but the thing is, Boss, that it was only then. It's only when I kill someone, when someone I know is in danger, when... And people think it's so great. It doesn't matter that he continually belittles me, my skills, my social life, the things I do for fun. All of that doesn't matter. I should just deal with it...be grown up and take the hits that keep coming. Because it's only me that's doing something wrong, never Tony."

Tim took a deep breath and continued, "It's okay that Abby treats me like dirt half the time because...because she gives a hug and that makes everything okay. She ruins the things I own and it's funny. I get attacked by a dog and because I defended myself I'm cruel...and it's funny for Tony to put a DVD on of _When Dogs Attack_ on my computer, hours after a dog high on cocaine nearly killed me. Hilarious! Do you have any idea how much that scared me? Of course, I couldn't say anything. I could only get angry because showing any sign of weakness in that place is like laying yourself out for sacrifice. You might as well slit your own wrists." Tim didn't know why he was now unloading on Gibbs...because Gibbs certainly wasn't someone he wanted to stick around. He wanted him to leave, but he was going to make sure Gibbs understood why he was so angry...because he didn't think Gibbs got it. None of them did.

"I've been tasered twice since I've worked at NCIS. Have you ever been tasered, Boss? Well, it hurts. It's frightening because you can't move. Your whole body seizes up. Twice that happened to me. It's weird, but that I can accept. What I can't accept is how I'm treated for it. The first time, Tony and Ziva collaborated to tell me how much I screwed up. The second time, Tony thought it would be funny to shock me a few times by scuffing his feet on the floor. ...because that's funny and teasing. Well, it's not funny. No, it didn't seriously hurt me, but...but Tony is supposedly a friend. Ziva and Abby are supposedly my friends...and yet, I seem to be the only one who actually cares. That's the worst thing. I'm getting pulled into it. I've said things I regret...because it seems to be the only way people interact."

Tim looked away. "Then, there's you. I have spent the last five years of my life trying to do what you wanted. I've done everything you've asked me to do...and, like a kicked dog, I've watched for those moments when whatever I've done actually manages to impress you. That rare time when you say, 'Good work, McGee.' I don't expect it all the time, but do you know how many times my work has resulted in you berating me? When that guy...Mikael was stalking Abby, she stayed at my place and Mikael almost got to her. I felt terrible about that. I really did. ...and I didn't even bother to explain why I had left the apartment, how Mikael had managed to get in because I knew that you wouldn't care, wouldn't care that it wasn't completely my fault. You only cared that Abby could have been hurt. I was worried about that, too. I really was and I felt terrible, but I was trying to do everything right, please everyone...and I couldn't. I felt terrible when she got stuck in that car. ...but Abby's your favorite. Everyone knows it. I've always known it. That's why she can do whatever she wants, say whatever she wants and it doesn't matter to you. I can spend hours and hours doing something you wanted and then be the one who screwed up because it didn't turn out the way you wanted. I hacked into the CIA for you...and do you know that's one of the few times you treated me like I was actually possibly a peer? When you wanted me to do something illegal?"

Tim hadn't planned on this, hadn't planned and saying all these things, hadn't planned on talking as much as Abby did when she was on a caffeine kick...but once he started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"I don't have the experience you do. I was never in the military. I'm not a product of the streets. I wasn't disowned by my family. I wasn't a cop. I've been...a _geek_ my whole life and that's not going to change...but the problem is that you all have translated that to mean that I don't matter, that you can say whatever you want and either I don't care or else I'm just too weak to take it. I can't work like that anymore. Maybe you're all right. Maybe it is all my fault. I'm the one to blame. Mea culpa. I just can't believe that you could possibly be confused as to why this bothers me. I can't believe that you could come in here and think that by apologizing for one slight among so many would mean that suddenly I wasn't angry anymore."

Tim stopped speaking. He had nothing more to say and that fact, in and of itself, surprised him. He stared at Gibbs, refusing to relent.

"_Are _you angry?" Gibbs asked.

"Get out, Gibbs. Go back to DC and do your job. You don't need me there. I don't why you're even bothering here."

Whatever Gibbs might have been about to respond was interrupted by the entrance of Tim's doctor.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that you had a visitor, Timothy," he said. "I can come back."

"No," Tim said. "Gibbs was just leaving."

"Very well. I'm just going to give you a once over. Make sure you're not getting worse."

"Okay."

Tim sat silently and stared at Gibbs as the doctor had him take a deep breath, as he looked in Tim's eyes, checked his pulse, his respiratory rate, all the usual things. Gibbs didn't leave and Tim just stared at him.

"Well, Timothy, you're doing quite well, considering everything that's happened to you. Still some tenderness in the abdominal area?"

Tim nodded.

"That's to be expected. You'll be our guest for a few more days, but based on what I'm seeing here, you'll be ready to head home by Wednesday."

"What about my car?"

"I'm sure the state police could tell you where it was towed."

"Thank you."

"I understand that you were in another serious accident a few years ago."

"Yes."

"You must have quite the good luck charm. I anticipate no long-term complications from your accident this time and from what I can tell, you didn't have any from the first one either."

"No."

"Well, you are fortunate. You'll be checked again in a few hours. Any problems, just buzz the nurses' station."

"I will."

The doctor left. Gibbs did not. He had watched as Tim face went blank, although he'd obviously made an effort to keep a grip on his anger. He hadn't succeeded. Now, there was a sheen of tears in his eyes that he was trying to hold back.

"McGee."

"Go away, Boss. I don't want you here!" Tim said and furiously wiped away a tear that had escaped and fallen down his cheek.

Finally, Gibbs nodded, but he stopped at the door.

"McGee, if you really are angry and really don't want to work at NCIS anymore, that's up to you...but I'd hate to think that you were leaving just because we weren't astute enough to realize what was wrong. That would be no better than Jenny forcing you to resign for your sister."

"Get out, Gibbs."

Gibbs left, but he heard the muffled sobs as he went into the hallway...and it made up his mind for him. No matter what Tim thought...

_He could hardly think less of me than he does now,_ he thought wryly and walked down the hall and out of the hospital.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Naomi McGee speaking."

"_This is Agent Gibbs, Mrs. McGee."_

Naomi straightened. "Oh, Agent Gibbs, I completely forgot to call you. Tim _finally_ got a hold of me. I don't know exactly where he is, but he's okay."

"_He's in Oakland, Maryland, Mrs. McGee."_

"What? How do you know?"

"_Because I'm outside the hospital he's currently staying in."_

Naomi remembered that Gibbs had been blunt...but the shock of his words made her sit down.

"Hospital? What's wrong?"

"_Mrs. McGee, I may as well tell you everything. You can hate me if you like. Your son definitely does."_

"I don't understand. Tim doesn't hate you. He never has."

"_McGee was in a car accident early Saturday morning. He wasn't found until around eight a.m. He was rushed to the hospital in Oakland. I came to see him when the state police found the BOLO I'd issued. While I was here, his spleen ruptured and was subsequently repaired. After he came out of recovery, I told him that he had to call you and tell you where he was."_

"You mean you _knew_ where he was?"

"_I knew he'd been in an accident when you called me, but I didn't know where or how bad it was. You see, Mrs. McGee, Tim quit NCIS on Friday. He was...angry when he left. I was on the phone with him, trying to figure out what was wrong, when he got in the accident. He told me not to call you when I got to Oakland yesterday. He didn't want to leave his father alone."_

"And you did what he said?"

"_Yes."_

Naomi wasn't sure whether she wanted to scream at Gibbs or just wait until she saw him in person and throttle him for keeping her in the dark about her son.

"_Mrs. McGee, he needs you."_

"Why now? Why not before?"

"_Before I was still deluding myself that I could fix things. I don't know if that's possible. What I do know is that he hates everything and everyone to do with NCIS and he needs someone here who loves him and hasn't incited his wrath."_

Naomi looked at Sam. Sarah hadn't come back yet. She didn't want to leave Sam, but she couldn't leave Tim alone, not now that she knew where he was...and what was wrong.

"_I can give you the address if you're coming."_

"I'm coming, Agent Gibbs. You'd better hope that the drive calms me down."

"_I've had three ex-wives, Mrs. McGee. I'm fairly certain that I've seen worse."_

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Give me the address."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Naomi had always been a good driver, a careful driver. With what had happened to Sam and Tim, there was no question of that, not really. No one wanted a repeat. ...but her driving, although she couldn't make the comparison herself, would rival that of Gibbs and Ziva...combined. She covered the distance from Ohio to Maryland quite quickly. Sarah had not asked to come, and Naomi understood why. She also was relieved because, based on what Gibbs had said, she knew that Tim wouldn't be ready to see Sarah just yet.

As she drove, she wondered at Gibbs saying Tim hated them all. It was odd to hear that because, for the last five years, Tim had been full of how much he enjoyed being on Gibbs' team. Oh, there had been moments when he had complained about things that had been done, had been said...and there was no question that he'd been hurt by Abby's attitude during what Naomi had called the "Jethro debacle", but mostly, Tim loved NCIS, loved his work, loved working with the people there. What had caused the change?

She couldn't answer the question until she talked to Tim...and so she drove, almost afraid of her own recklessness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three hours later..._

She had seen him only once...and that had been two years ago when she and Sam had visited Tim at NCIS, wanting to see the place that had captured his soul. He looked no different from that first time, maybe a few more wrinkles, maybe a little more gray in the hair...but she could say the same for herself, truth be told. She would recognize that stance anywhere.

"Agent Gibbs," she said, sternly.

He stood up, inclining his head in acceptance of her anger.

"Where is he?"

"He's requested no visitors," Gibbs said.

"Agent Gibbs, I am his mother. It would take a whole lot more than that to keep me away from my son. Wild horses...the end of the world...these are things that come to mind as being ineffective deterrents. Mere words mean nothing. Do you understand?" Naomi asked. Her voice was level, and she was striving to maintain a degree of objectivity. She could see that Gibbs was worried...but he couldn't possibly be feeling the same measure of anxiety that she was feeling.

"He's this way." Gibbs walked by the nurses' desk and shrugged slightly. Naomi followed him...or rather walked beside him, allowing him to direct their course.

There was a brief silence.

"So...is throttling in my future?"

"I'm still deciding," Naomi said stiffly. "The McGees can occasionally hold grudges." Then, she let out a rueful chuckle. "Well, actually, that's my side of the family...and Tim got it from me."

"What's your maiden name? I'd like to know who to avoid."

"Good luck. My maiden name is Brown. There are lots of us." Naomi stopped abruptly and looked at Gibbs. "Tell me, Agent Gibbs, what happened to turn the deep respect my son had for you into the kind of hatred you think he feels now."

"That's...his story to tell, Mrs. McGee."

"Why is that?"

"Because, to be honest, I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" Naomi asked, in obvious disbelief. "You're here. You've known where my son has been. You've obviously spoken to him. What on earth is keeping you here if you haven't the slightest idea what has created such dislike?"

"I have an idea...but not enough of one. I do know that McGee thinks we don't care. He _knows_ that you care. He might explain things to you better than he has to me."

Naomi cocked her head to one side. She could, more or less, look Gibbs in the eye. They were of much the same height.

"You're not telling me everything, Agent Gibbs. Why not?"

"It's his story to tell, not mine. I'll wait." He turned and walked away.

Naomi stared after him for a few seconds and then opened the door to Tim's room. Her first glance at her son made her heart constrict. He was certainly getting better, but he was also most certainly seriously injured...and not just physically. She could see it in his face, even though his eyes were closed. She knew how to read her son.

"Tim," she said softly.

His eyes opened.

"Mom! What are you–? How–?" Then, he sighed and she saw the anger...and, just for a moment, gratitude. "Gibbs told you."

"What happened, Tim?"

"I didn't want you to come, Mom," Tim said, earnestly. "I'm not that...bad. Really. It looks worse than it is."

Naomi walked to the bed. "Tim, you were in a car accident. You were injured. ...and you thought I wouldn't want to know?"

"No. That's not it. I didn't want you to come. I didn't want you to leave Dad. I'm going to be okay," he said and his eyes filled with tears. "Just like before...and...and he might not be." He blinked furiously, trying to hold back his tears. "He needs you."

Naomi put her arms around Tim. He remained stiff.

"Tim, this isn't your fault. I know what Sarah said and she's wrong. Even _she_ knows she's wrong. It's not your fault. It's just our lot. It happens."

"You should go back, Mom. I'll be fine."

"No, Tim. You're not fine. You won't be, either...not if you quit your job, just to come home."

"That's not why I quit, Mom." Tim pulled away. "It's something I needed to do."

"Why? You love your job. Except for your father, I don't know if I've ever seen someone who likes what they do so much."

"It's not the job."

"Then, what is it, Tim? Tell me because I don't understand, and Agent Gibbs wouldn't tell me."

"That's because he doesn't get it. None of them do...and that's the problem!" Tim leaned back and looked at Naomi. "Don't you see, Mom? They never understand! They never _care_...and I can't deal with it anymore. They don't need me. They don't want me. ...and I don't want to work like that."

"Whoa, Tim. Where did this come from?" Naomi asked, trying to get Tim to look her in the eye. "You've never said anything about this before."

"It's always been like this, Mom. I just...I hoped that...that maybe it would change, but it won't. It can't because they don't _care_. Gibbs doesn't care, unless I screw up. Tony doesn't care unless someone...dies. Abby doesn't care unless it affects her directly. Ziva..."

"Yes, what about Ziva? What about Ducky? What about Jimmy? Have they all dismissed you as well?"

Tim flushed although Naomi's tone was mild.

"She just goes along. Most of the time...Ziva's nice enough, but usually she just goes along with whatever is happening. If that involves tormenting, she does it. Ducky doesn't even notice. Jimmy...he hasn't done anything. I'm not mad at him," he ended in a whisper.

"Tim, is that really why you're angry at them? Because I remember you telling me how great it was that they had your back when it mattered."

"I was wrong."

"Why?"

"Because it matters more often than they think it does!" Tim said, sounding angry for the first time. "It's not just when my life's falling apart! I'm not just someone who's there to be the comic relief, someone for them to make fun of. I made a joke about that once, me being the plucky comic relief, but that's what I've become! Comic relief. A big joke. They don't ask. They don't care enough to ask..." He looked out the window. "...at least, they don't care enough to ask me."

"Ask you what, Tim?"

"What's wrong. That's all it would take. Two words. That's all. ...but I can't even get that. Ziva can stalk Tony, asking him why he's not acting like his normal self, be worried about him. Abby gets lots of attention, regardless of the seriousness of the situation, but me... If I'm acting differently, it's because I did something wrong or I got rejected or they don't even notice." Tim stopped talking and stared at his hands. "Three days...and not once did a single person think to ask what was wrong...except for Gibbs...once...and all he did was say that if I had a problem I should deal with it on my own time. I guess I'm not...the right person to be there."

"Is that really what you think?"

"No."

"What _do_ you think?"

"That _they're_ the ones with the problem," Tim burst out. "...but I'm outnumbered, just like always and I'm not going to fight it anymore. They keep coming...now that it's too late, now that I've already made my decision, and they can't understand why it's still a problem. ...but I'm stuck in here for now, and...and all I wanted was to get home." He looked up. "I didn't want you to worry. You have enough to worry about. I wanted to be _there_. I wanted to help, but I...I didn't make it and...and now you're here...and Dad's alone."

"Sarah's still there."

"Yeah..."

"She's sorry, Tim."

"I know...but she's right."

"No, she's not."

"I should have gone," Tim said. "I should have just left. They didn't need me. I thought maybe they would. It's my job, after all. It's what I do. That's why I agreed to stay, but they didn't. They didn't need me there. What I did could have been done by Abby. What I did was not good enough. It never is. You needed me, and they didn't. I was in the wrong place. ...and all I got for that was teasing, put downs and harangues."

"Why didn't you tell them, Tim?"

"Because they didn't ask," Tim said slowly and clearly. Then, he winced and put his hand on his abdomen.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Mom. It just hurts a little."

"That was more than a little." She stood up and walked to the doorway.

"Mom, it's..." He winced again. "...it's okay."

Naomi ignored his feeble protests. A nurse was walking by and she snagged her.

"Excuse me, my son is having abdominal pain."

"Mom."

"Of course," the nurse said. It was Alaia. She came in, gave Tim a _look_. "I told you that you need to tell us when you're having pain, Tim."

Tim winced and shrugged. "It's not that bad."

"Lay back," she ordered. Then, she began to probe Tim's abdomen, checking around the sutures from the surgeries. Tim tensed as she touched sensitive areas, but her expression didn't change. "You don't appear to be have a recurrence of the bleeding, Tim, but remember what I told you. Treating the pain now is important for how it will affect you in the future. If you take care of it now, you're much less likely to have problems later on. Don't try to be macho. Now, are you ready for an analgesic?"

"It's not that bad," Tim said again.

"That's not what I asked."

Tim ducked his head and nodded.

"I'll make sure you get it, then." She turned from Tim to Naomi. "I'm Alaia, and if Tim keeps this up, you can call me again. Some people think they have to feel the pain in order to be tough. I don't know how many times I've had to explain that it's not a sign of weakness to want help."

"Thank you, Alaia. I'll keep that in mind," Naomi said, smiling. She waited until Tim had been given another painkiller before coming back to their conversation.

"Mom, you should go back. I'm going to be fine," Tim said.

"Tim, I want you to listen to me. I am your mother. I also happen to be a pretty smart person. I know where I'm needed. And right now, you need me here more than your father does."

"No, I don't."

"Tim, tell me why you quit. You said that _they're_ the ones with the problems. You said that they don't appreciate you, but that flies in the face of what you've said to us for the last five years. Tim, you have to tell me what's going on in your head...because I'm not following."

"I told you what's wrong already, Mom," Tim said, but he sounded tired, not angry. "That's not going to change."

"But you're not telling me everything."

"What am I missing?"

"The truth, Tim. The whole truth. Nothing but the–"

"We're not in court, Mom," Tim said, almost smiling.

"No. It's more important than that...because you stand to lose a lot more if you don't figure it out."

Tim took a deep breath and yawned. The drugs were doing their job.

"Tim, I'll leave it for now, but let me say one thing."

"Can I stop you?"

"No," Naomi said and she smiled. "But you don't have to listen. I think you should."

"What?"

"I don't know what's been going on. Honestly, I have been thinking about little else besides your father for the last few days, and you haven't been calling as often, not since you asked me to send your old computers. ...but Tim, listening to you now, I'm not hearing anger. I'm hearing bitterness. Anger...in the moment, is okay. It's even healthy to express it, but bitterness can hurt you a lot more than it can hurt anyone else. Remember the quote you told me? Voltaire?"

Tim's eyes moved away from her.

"Think about it. I'll see you later, Tim." Naomi stood and walked to the door. "I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

Then, she left, walking to the waiting room. Gibbs was there, just like he'd said.

"What did you do to my son?" she asked.

"Nothing I haven't done before."

"That doesn't sound promising, Agent Gibbs."

"Best I can do for now. How is he?"

"Hurt. That's how he is. ...but I think I might have made him confused, which is good because Tim thinks better when he has to puzzle something out. The problem is that _I'm_ confused as well. What did you people do?"

"I think it's more what we _didn't_ do, Mrs. McGee. Are you hungry?"

"Are you offering me lunch?"

"Might as well."

She allowed herself to smile. "Very well. While we eat you can tell me what happened this last week."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim lay in the encroaching mental fog. He was tired. It was hard to feel angry when he was tired. It was hard to feel angry for so long in any case, but he knew if he let it go...everything would happen again...and again...and again. Just like it had before. Just like it would again if he went back.

_They don't really care,_ he insisted to himself.

"Are you feeling up to eating lunch, Tim?" a nurse asked, poking her head in the door.

"Sure."

"All right. Here you go." She bustled in with a tray. "Oh, I almost forgot. One of your visitors left his phone number for you."

Tim furrowed his brow, both at the unappealing food on the tray and at what she had said.

"What?"

"Ducky, is that his name? He left his phone number and said that you can call him if you would like to. He was very polite about it. I have to admit that I love hearing the British accent."

"He's Scottish," Tim mumbled.

She wasn't really listening. "So, I'll just leave the number here by your bed. You can call if you want. I suggest that you eat and take a nap. It will help you heal. These things take time, but if you do it right..."

"Thanks."

She bustled out again, leaving Tim alone. He looked at the tray and sampled the items but didn't finish any of it. Finally, he pushed the tray to the side and looked around the room. Alone at last.

"'We are rarely proud when we are alone,'" he whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Gibbs looked at Naomi. She was listening to what he was saying, but he could tell that she was frustrated with his words, that she was frustrated and _annoyed_ by the fact that he was admitting to not understanding what was wrong. He could tell by how vigorously she was stabbing at the poor defenseless salad she'd ordered that she was angry at him, not with the intensity of Tim's anger, but angry nonetheless. It was as though the two of them were speaking different languages.

"Agent Gibbs, I don't understand how you could..._not_ comprehend these things. Surely you didn't spring forth as a Marine, fully-formed, from the head of Zeus. Didn't you _ever_ have experience with someone who is _not_ military?"

"Sure. Quite a few, actually." _Mostly murder suspects or people of that nature, but yes._

"Then, why is it that you feel rudeness is the only way to interact with the people who work for you? Why can't you understand that some people may not work best with that kind of feedback?"

"He's worked with it for nearly six years, Mrs. McGee. This is nothing new."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"He's never complained before."

"Well, he's complaining now, Agent Gibbs! ...and you are all still as blind to it as you were before! Only now you know he's angry at least." Carefully, she set down her fork, and Gibbs couldn't help but think that she was probably likely trying to avoid having a weapon in her hand. "What is it that you don't see?"

"What I don't see, Mrs. McGee, is what triggered your son's anger this time around. Perhaps he _was_ angry about these things before...but he never said he was, not once, not to me, anyway. McGee has always worked hard for me. I don't always say it but I appreciate it."

"And yet, from the way Tim is speaking right now, you'd think that nothing he did was ever good enough for you. Why is that?"

In anyone else, Gibbs would have assumed that was a rhetorical question, but this time, he could see she was really asking.

"My son has done little besides tell us how great his job is ever since he started working for you...but now, I can't get him to admit that there was _ever_ anything good about working for you. Don't you see the problem I have?"

Gibbs inwardly winced. He hadn't realized it was quite that bad. Holding grudges indeed.

"I'll talk to him."

"No, Agent Gibbs," Naomi said firmly. "I'd actually prefer it if you left him alone...at least for the night. I don't think that you really _get_ Tim, even after nearly six years. He's the kind of person who will say no once...and then, if he is continually pestered about it, he will keep saying no, more and more vehemently, just because he's not being left alone to make a decision on his own. Eventually, he says no, even if he'd like to change his mind, because he can't think of how to say anything else. You've all apparently tried to talk to him. Now...you need to back off and let him think about it. If you _really_ want him back, if you've really learned something," and her tone was heavily skeptical, "then, let Tim think...now that you've said your piece. He may or may not come around on his own."

"And if he doesn't?"

Naomi's smile was thin. "I have to admit, Agent Gibbs, that I care much less for the structure of your team at NCIS than I do for my son's well-being. If he will be happier away from you, then that's what I want for him. I don't care what you want for yourself." She took a deep breath, placed the napkin on her unfinished salad and stood, looming over him. "I'm going to go back to the hospital now. I'm assuming you'll have to work tomorrow. Tim knows where you all are. He more than likely has your numbers memorized. Let him take a step on his own before you run over him again." She didn't wait for Gibbs to respond. Instead, she walked away, leaving him sitting at the table, alone.

After a moment, Gibbs stood as well, paid the bill and left the restaurant. He had to think. If Tim needed to think, he did as well. No matter what Naomi said, he didn't believe that Tim would really be happier away from NCIS. No, this felt too much like running away from something he couldn't tolerate, not abandoning something he hated.

_Kind of like me running away to Mexico,_ he thought suddenly. It took him by surprise. He usually compartmentalized the various periods of his life and only thought about them when it was necessary. Many were painful enough that it was easier just to avoid them anyway. He _had_ been running away when he'd gone to Mexico. Away from the pain of his loss, remembered afresh, away from the hypocrisy and the politics, away from the responsibility he didn't feel he could face. ...but, in spite of the anger he'd felt at the time, it hadn't been because he'd hated NCIS.

Gibbs wanted to get to the bottom of this. If he was right, then the last thing Tim should do was quit. He would only regret it later on. He began to stride toward the hospital, wanting to shake some sense into...

_Yes, because that's been working so well._ He stopped. What Naomi had said came back to him. Did he really want to have Tim back? Had he really learned anything from this? _Not enough, if my first thought is to force McGee to see things my way. How is _he_ seeing things right now?_

If he couldn't figure that out, maybe Naomi was right and he should just stay away for a while. He didn't like the idea, though. It was as though he was leaving the job half done...tantamount to leaving a man behind.

_He's asking you to leave him behind...but don't most wounded soldiers do the same thing? That doesn't mean they're right._

Gibbs found himself pacing in the trees near the hospital and sternly made himself stop acting like a child. He walked to a bench and sat down.

_Maybe McGee really is right this time. If so, I should respect what he wants._

Gibbs looked at the hospital.

_No. Dang it, I won't lose a member of my team because I was incompetent as a leader!_

He stood and began to walk...but not into the hospital. Instead, he walked to his car and drove away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was asleep when Naomi got back. She sat beside him, content just to wait. Tim had usually done things in his own time, much like Sam. He would wake up when he was ready. Tim would forgive when he was ready...and no one would make him do it any sooner. The problem was that she feared _Tim_ was keeping himself from forgiving...and she wasn't sure why, but, as she had told Gibbs, this was not the time to grill Tim about his thought processes. She had done her best to make him think. Now, it was up to him to do the thinking.

"Ma'am?"

Naomi looked up. It was almost depressing that she was so used to that form of address. The polite doctor's request for attention. She sighed and stood up, knowing that he would want to talk to her outside the room. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

"What is it?" Naomi asked.

"You're Tim's mother?"

"Yes. What is it?"

He hesitated.

"Please. My husband is paralyzed...and currently in the hospital in Ohio. I am very used to getting bad news from doctors."

He smiled sympathetically. "Very well. I spoke to an Agent Gibbs before about this, but as you're family, you should know."

"What should I know?" Naomi asked, feeling a sick feeling of fear in her gut.

"Tim's recovery is more than likely going to be longer than one would normally expect. Recovery from his internal bleeding and ruptured spleen would normally be in the neighborhood of six weeks, just to get his body back up to full form, including the week spent in the hospital...but I don't think that will be the case here."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think he wants to fight anymore, regardless of the reason. I think he's tired and bordering on depressed. I was just about to ask someone to come and talk to him. There's always a risk for post-operative depression, but I get the feeling there are other factors involved that could push him further than he would normally go."

Naomi took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling for a moment, bringing one hand up and resting her fingers on her mouth.

"What do I do?"

"See if you can get him to talk about it. Most people throw off the depression on their own as their bodies begin to recover...but some don't. Some need the extra help."

She nodded. Part of her was lamenting that the last thing she needed to deal with was another depressed family member...but predominant was the determination to drag her family back to its usual makeup, kicking and screaming if necessary.

"Thank you for telling me. I'll see what I can do. Is there anything else?"

"For now, that's it. We'll be in and out all day."

"Thank you."

Naomi walked, not back to Tim's room, but to one of the approved cell phone areas of the hospital. There, she dialed a number.

"_Mom?"_

"Hi, Sarah. How are things?"

"_Dad's still out. Dr. Chan still isn't worried. ...I still am."_

Naomi smiled. Sarah had her _I'm in control_ persona on.

"_How's Tim?"_

"He'll be fine...eventually. He was in a car accident, Sarah. Pretty bad one."

"_But he's going to be okay?"_ Sarah's voice took on a plaintive edge.

"Yes. He'll be fine. The doctors are predicting a full recovery." _Eventually._

"_Can I talk to him?"_

"Not right now. They don't allow cell phones in the patient rooms and Tim's asleep in any case."

"_Asleep? Or..."_

"No, he's really asleep, Sarah. They gave him some pain medication and it zonked him."

"_Tell him I was asking, okay?"_

"Okay."

"_I love you, Mom."_ It was less a statement than a begging for reassurance.

"I love you, too, Sarah." Naomi hung up and leaned back for a moment, resting her head against the wall.

"Something's got to give," she whispered. She just wasn't sure what would.

Naomi stayed with Tim for the rest of the day, but they didn't talk about his accident, his quitting, or even Sam. It was a meaningless conversation, touching base on things that they hadn't talked about for a long time, like his old computers. They both could sense the iceberg lurking just beneath the surface of the conversation as they were careful to steer away from topics like Tim's dog or Sam's latest bright idea. When visiting hours ended, Tim managed a smile, but that was all. She could tell that he wasn't looking forward to be alone. ...and she knew why.

...once she left, he'd have to think about things again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva looked at the phone number she'd written down. Ever since she, Tony and Abby had returned to DC, she had been consumed with her remorse...and the feeling that her regret was too little and much too late. Still, she didn't want to give up on at least _talking_ to Tim, even if that meant opening herself up to a cruelly-accurate assessment of her treatment of him. ...but she also wanted to respect his privacy.

She looked again at the phone number. It would not connect her to Tim. She knew that. It was the general number for the hospital, but she remembered what Ducky had done. It seemed to her that the best course of action would be to emulate the least culpable of the people involved in this.

"_Hello, how can I help you?"_

Ziva gulped and stared at the phone number in her hand as if it would give her the answers to the question.

"_Hello?"_

"Yes. Hello. I would...like to...leave a message for...for one of the patients there...at the hospital."

"_I can connect you to the room if you would like."_

"No! No, that...that will not be necessary. If you could pass along a message. That is possible, yes?"

"_Yes, I suppose so. The message?"_

"Excuse me?"

The person on the other end of the line was very patient. _"What is the message you would like to leave? And for whom?"_

"Oh...yes. The message is for Timothy McGee. The...the message is that...that should he wish to...to talk to me, he may reach me at 301-555-3521. Anytime. Anytime at all."

"_Is that it?"_

"Should there be more?"

There was a laugh. _"I don't know. I was just making sure you were done."_

Ziva flushed. She wasn't used to be so flustered. ...of course, she wasn't used to feeling this kind of guilt either.

"Oh. Yes, that is all."

"_I'll see that he gets it. Is that everything you need?"_

"Not even close, but I believe that is all that you can help me with."

"_Have a nice evening."_

"Thank you." Ziva hung up, feeling extremely embarrassed. This was not like her. Not at all. But it was done. Now, it was up to Tim to make the decision, but that didn't stop her from worrying.

_What if he doesn't ever call?_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his bed. A nurse had brought him Ziva's message and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with it. Tearing it into little pieces and throwing it away had come to mind, but he hadn't done that. Instead, he had set it on the table beside his bed and tried not to look at it.

"Why can't they just leave me alone?" he asked...no one.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Tim didn't sleep well that night.

"_Hey, Geek!" Bump._

"_You look like you need some help with your books, Geek!" Splash._

"_Looks like the geek's starting to cry! Should we call your mama?" Thump._

He opened his eyes, annoyed that the memories could still make him feel ashamed. He sat up, groaning a bit.

"Always outnumbered," he said aloud and sighed. He looked over at the phone. "No. I don't want them. I just want them to leave me alone. For once."

"_We were just having fun, weren't we, McGee."_

"_Yeah. Just a big joke. We're buddies, aren't we, McGee."_

_The arm around the shoulders...uncomfortably tight...but not obvious. Threatening._

They all wore the faces of those he knew. Every one of them. He opened his eyes again.

"This isn't about that," he said, again aloud, speaking to the empty room. "It was a long time ago. This has nothing to do with that...with them. Nothing at all."

His mind began to wander around to...to Ohio. To his dad, to...

_They're waiting. Like always. Sometimes, the daily torment isn't enough. Sometimes, they need extra fun with the geek._

Tim shook his head. It was bad enough having to deal with his dad, with his former team, with his injuries...

_I don't need to think about ancient history. The present is bad enough._

He shifted around in bed and stubbornly did _not_ look at the phone.

"_Geek! I'm talking to you!"_

"_You don't get away that easily, Geek."_

He opened his eyes. Chanced a glance at the time. Not much had gone by. Not enough. Never enough time in between the moments. Never was there really time to get over it.

"_Good morning, Geek!"_

"_You dropped something, Geek."_

"_Let me get that for you...Geek."_

Tim tried to push away the memories. He had left all that behind once he graduated. He had never seen those boys again. He hadn't gone to his class reunions. High school, in spite of all he had learned, was something he was more than happy to leave behind...

"_Looks like the Geek is a little big for the locker!"_

"_Maybe we can help him out."_

"_Or in."_

He opened his eyes, furious with himself that he was thinking of this now...that he couldn't let it go, that even now, years later, they wouldn't leave him alone.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, he sat up, slowly, in his bed and tried to think of other things. ...but the only other things on his mind were infinitely more painful because they were happening now, not more than fifteen years ago.

"No, leaving NCIS isn't painful. It's making things better. No more bullies."

He said it...but there was a pang that he couldn't quite ignore.

"No! I'm not sad about leaving!" he told himself firmly. "They're just like the others. And I'm tired of being outnumbered."

He lay back down and tried to force himself to sleep.

He was awake for a long time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Nor was Tim the only person having trouble sleeping that night.

After Tony dropped off Ziva, Abby gave him a look that begged him not to just drop her off as well. So, they had gone to eat and said almost nothing to each other...but there was _something_ that apparently _needed_ to be said.

"What, Abby?" he asked, finally. He wanted to be alone, but Abby very obviously didn't and he rather doubted that Gibbs had given up yet.

"Are we that bad, Tony?"

"In what respect?"

"No games, Tony," Abby said, very serious. "No games. No evasions. Are we that bad? Tim thinks that the only thing I'd be worried about is Jethro and he says that you–"

"I remember what he said, Abby. I don't have short-term memory loss." Tony didn't really need to hear it again, anyway...particularly not from Abby who was liable to make it sound even worse.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are we that bad?"

"McGee seems to think we are."

"But _are_ we?"

Tony sighed. "Abby, does it even matter?"

"What do you mean does it even matter?"

"Just what I said. Whether we are or we aren't doesn't matter because McGee quit. He thinks we are and _that's_ what matters."

"How are we going to get him back?"

"I don't think we are."

"Why not?"

_Because we don't deserve to, because we obviously haven't learned a single thing,_ Tony thought.

"Because we can't force McGee to work for NCIS if he doesn't want to be there."

"Why not?"

"Abby, listen to yourself! Look at what we're doing!" Tony said. "We are doing just what McGee _thinks_ we do! We think only about ourselves and how it affects us. If he really wants to be free of us, why should we think that we have the right to even _suggest_ that he stay where he's miserable?"

Abby deflated. "He wasn't always miserable."

"Do you think he cares about that?"

"He should! He _likes_ working at NCIS!"

"Not right now."

"But he will again," Abby said, her voice desperate. "He just has to come back."

"But he doesn't, Abbs. That's the thing. He _doesn't_ have to come back."

"You don't seem to want him to," Abby said, accusingly.

"Don't, Abby. Don't even _think_ it," Tony said sharply. "You are not going to turn this into more of a blame game than it already is. He hates _all_ of us, including Ducky who didn't even do anything wrong. He hates you. He hates me. He hates Ziva. He hates Gibbs. He hates all of us."

"But why?"

"Abby, you've heard as much as I have, maybe more. If you don't get it, then, how am I supposed to tell you when I don't understand myself?"

"But he can't _really_ hate us."

"Yeah, he can. He made that pretty clear."

Abby sat silently, biting her lip.

"Abby, we both have to work tomorrow. I'll take you home." Tony stood up. Abby followed docilely and they walked back to his car, rode in silence to her apartment. Abby began to get out, but then she stopped.

"I don't want Tim to hate me."

Tony didn't reply and Abby got out, closing the door firmly behind her. Alone in the car, Tony waited until Abby was inside before driving away.

"I don't want that either," he said softly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_It's… it's not you. Ziva, the past month has been hard on everyone. But I'm glad you're here."_

"_Yes?"_

"_Yeah. It means I'm not the newbie anymore."_

"Ha!" Ziva said softly. She was sitting on her couch, not in the least bit tired, wishing that Tim would call, but knowing that he wouldn't. ...not tonight anyway. He had been so nice to her those first days. He had helped her with routes to work. He had always been willing to answer her questions.

This was ridiculous. She was sitting there despondent...as if Tim had died! He was not dead. He would heal...physically.

"I cannot allow this," she said to herself. "Not if I can help." Decided, she walked into her bedroom, came out with a bag and made a call as she left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs sat at his desk in NCIS. He had received the information he needed, even asked for permission (which violated rule #18, but that was okay), but now...now, he had to figure out what to do about it.

That was the most irritating thing. He didn't _know_ what to do. He didn't like not knowing what to do. It smacked of weakness. It was...

_Knowing what to do...and doing it is partially what caused this mess._

He had to admit that he didn't give a second's thought to how he approached the team. He treated them more or less with the same level of...abruptness. None of them had ever complained...not much anyway.

Now, not only did he have to reconsider that, but he also had to confront the idea that not even apologizing (the sign of that deplorable weakness he so despised) had the power to wash the problems away.

He sat at his desk, looking over at Tim's desk, at the junk that was always there...very little in the way of personal items, but that wasn't unusual. None of them kept much that was identifiable out on their desks. Tim was mostly defined by what he did the best, i.e. computers. ...and Gibbs had no idea how all that stuff worked. Heck, Tim could be typing his name over and over again and Gibbs wouldn't know the difference. ...but whatever he did generally worked. Not always. No one ever got everything right all the time, but what Tim did was often, as he had said, exactly what Gibbs wanted.

...and it was often just not good enough.

He stared at Tim's desk and wondered what to do, trying to _allow_ himself to consider doing something other than what he'd always done. Routine was safer, easier, and usually was a routine because it worked.

It wasn't working this time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky got up from his comfortable bed and pattered down the stairs. This house really was very empty. For what must have been the hundredth time, he considered moving into something smaller...but...

...would anything smaller have sufficient room for the detritus of his life?

As he stared morosely into the mug of warm milk he'd heated for himself, he sighed as his thoughts turned to the other major shift that had occurred.

Tim was an interesting combination of incredible reserve and moments of almost frightening fury. Ducky couldn't imagine how much anger it must have taken for Tim to actually attempt to hurt someone. This had most definitely been simmering for some time...and it had taken Jimmy of all people to point out what should have been obvious.

What Ducky _didn't_ understand was Tim's reason for not telling anyone of his problems. Granted he seemed reticent to involve them in his personal life, not even mentioning his sister until circumstances had forced the issue, not telling them of his father's paralysis until his parents had visited NCIS.

He sat, contemplating the contradictions that made up Timothy McGee, until his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"_Ducky, why is always four...or five...or more...against one? ...against me."_

"Timothy?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"_Why, Ducky? Why can't just one of them be on my side for once?"_

"Timothy, at the risk of sounding as ignorant as you accused me of being, what are you talking about?"

Ducky heard a deep breath, let out slowly and the voice was shaky.

"_Why am I always outnumbered? Why is the geek always the one who's pushed around, pushed to the side, pushed to the back...pushed to the ground? Why?"_

"Are you talking about now or about your younger days?"

"_It doesn't matter! Because it's always the same! It always happens in the same way, no matter who it is, where it is...how old I am. The situations are different, but everything else is the same! Why can't they just leave me alone? That's all I want."_

"From us?"

"_I just want them to leave me alone...but no one ever does...unless it's to ignore me completely, but that's better than the alternative. I thought it would be different. I really did...and it seemed to be for a while, but it's not. It's never going to be any different, Ducky. It's always the same." _Tim's voice rose and he began to speak more quickly._ "I'm always the geek. I don't have a real name. I'm the geek...and the geek is boring. The geek is teased. The geek doesn't have feelings; so why would it matter if they run roughshod over him again and again? Why would it matter? It wouldn't. It doesn't. Not to anyone...except the other geeks who are all in the same position."_

"You really think that?"

There was a harsh laugh. _"We can't all be Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, Ducky. ...most of us don't want to be."_

"What _do_ you want?"

"_To be considered a real human being. Just because I do things differently, because I think differently...that doesn't mean that I don't have the same feelings!"_

"Of course it doesn't." Ducky felt as though he was trying to keep up with a record running on high speed...skipping back and forth between songs. There was a definite theme involved, but he wasn't sure he was really following.

"_Then, why...why...why do they always act like I don't matter? Why do they always act as though I don't have feelings? Why don't they care?"_

"Timothy, to whom are you referring?"

There was a long sigh. _"Everyone."_

Ducky was surprised at the simple response. Tim had never seemed to think that way, but at this moment...

"Do you _really_ think we don't care?"

"_Not about me. About others, yes, you do. But I'm the geek and I don't matter."_

"That is _not_ true."

"_Then, why doesn't anyone ever bother to _ask_?"_ Tim burst out, almost shouting. _"I've been told so many times that I'm no good at keeping secrets, at lying...but they only seem to notice when it's something they can use against me. I didn't tell anyone my dad was in the hospital. I didn't tell anyone that the last time..."_ Tim stopped and Ducky could hear him breathing in the manner that heralded tears. _"...the last time this happened, he almost died. I didn't tell them that it's a complication of his paralysis. I didn't say any of that, and I wouldn't expect any of you to know right away that...that my dad could die. ...but I thought...I thought that if anyone cared at _all_, they would have noticed that there was something wrong! ...because there was...there _is_ something wrong!"_

Tim stopped talking, but Ducky sensed he had more to say and so he didn't respond. He just waited while Tim continued to breathe into the phone. When he resumed speaking, it was in a much duller tone.

"_But no one asked. Tony teased me about getting rejected by women. Ziva went along with him. Abby lectured me about not taking good enough care of Jethro. Gibbs...told me not to bother coming if I couldn't do the work. No one cared. ...and it seems like they never have. ...unless things are so bad for me that it seems like it might spoil the status quo. They want me _available_, but they don't care about me."_

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Timothy."

The sarcasm came back quickly. _"Why? Disappointed that I finally figured out the truth?"_

Ducky almost laughed. Tim's tactics probably fooled the ones who had been on the receiving end of his wrath, but he could see what he was doing. Tim was afraid. Sarcasm held everyone at bay, held the people he had rejected at arm's length. No more getting sucked in.

"No, saddened that this is all you can see."

There was a long silence, one unbroken by either participant.

Ducky waited, but Tim seemed disinclined to speak, to respond. Finally, he gave in.

"You were bullied as a child, I believe."

The laugh was short, pain, and cynical. _"You don't need to add the time factor, Ducky. It's not accurate."_

"You were bullied in school?"

"_Yes. That's not what this is about. That happened a long time ago. I haven't seen them since I graduated, haven't even bothered to see if they ended up like I thought they should."_

"And how was that?"

"_It doesn't matter, Ducky. Ancient history."_

"Perhaps." Ducky looked at his mug. The milk was cold again...well, not cold enough to be appetizing, but cold enough to be unpleasant. He stood and walked to the sink. As he poured it down the drain, he considered how best to proceed. That Tim was angry was beyond doubt. That he _deserved_ to be angry to some degree was also true. ...but this was much more than anger over slights. This was dredging up old wounds, opening new ones, delving into an omnipresent guilt. Tim was in pain and didn't want to admit it. Anger was easier to deal with...in the short term.

"_No. No perhaps. No maybes. It's over."_

"Only, it's not really, is it."

"_Why are you bothering? Why are you trying to make me think about that, about those people again?"_

"I'm not making you do anything, Timothy. You're already doing it. Even when you were talking to me before, it seems as though you are merging your past experiences with your present ones."

"_I don't need a psychology lecture."_

"Then, why did you call me? You know me, Timothy." Ducky smiled, although Tim couldn't see. "You know what I do, how I ramble."

There was an unwilling laugh, quickly muffled.

"_Why won't they leave me alone, Ducky?"_

"Who? Think, Timothy. Who are you talking about?"

There was another long silent pause. Ducky again waited.

Tim finally sighed. _"It was never bad, you know. ...not really. They only...every so often."_

Ducky didn't respond.

"_It was just so...so constant. They bumped into me in the hallways, spilled my books, intimidated me. It was only occasionally that they would try to shove me into the lockers or...stuff like that. But it never stopped. Every day, without fail. ...and I didn't have a name, not to them, not unless teachers were around. I used to cry...but that only made it worse. I told the teachers once, but it didn't help. But so what? I'm just a geek. That's how they saw me. Other people thought they were so nice...giving me attention...giving the loner some much-needed social interaction."_ Tim's voice had no inflection, not even sarcasm at the ludicrous thoughts he was relating.

There was another long pause.

"_...and I hated them. Every minute of every day. I hated them for how they treated me, for what they thought of me, for the fact that people liked them and couldn't care less about me. I hated them."_

"You'd been waiting for that moment your whole life, as I recall."

"_How..."_

"I am not deaf."

"_I was just trying to get him to talk."_

"But you meant it."

"_Yeah. I did."_

"Do you really remember their names?"

"_Yes. Every one."_

"How did it feel to be able to give some of that back?"

There was no response. Ducky thought back. He had been anxious about the missing woman and gone into interrogation to see if they were any closer. He had watched the amazing transformation as Tim had shifted from the gentleman he had always known into someone angry, bitter...and dangerous. That moment had been so fast. Acting out the part of the bullies he knew so well and then changing into the geek who wasn't so helpless anymore. It had been almost chilling to listen to him say how long he'd been looking forward to doing this. In fact, Ducky and the tech had exchanged glances, almost worried about what might happen. ...but nothing had. Tim had used his anger to get the information he needed to save Amanda Wilkerson.

"_I was almost not in control, Ducky. I was so mad. He was just like those idiots I had to deal with in high school. ...and he wasn't so tough on his own. No one is. They need people to be on their side. I was able to intimidate him because I was older. He couldn't dominate me physically, and he was on my turf."_

"How did it feel?"

"_It felt good."_

"And when you shouted at the team, threw your badge at Gibbs' head?"

"_Then, too."_

"For how long?"

"_Long enough for me to get away."_

"What were you escaping?"

"_Them. It's always the same, Ducky. I told you already. ...but they could make me come back if I let them. I gave up so much to work there, and it's what I wanted but..."_

"If you dislike us so much, how could we make you come back?"

"_I don't,"_ Tim whispered.

"Don't what?"

"_I don't hate them. I don't hate you."_

"You said as much."

"_No. No, Ducky. I never did. I never said that. I hate what they've done. I hate that they don't care. I hate what's been happening...but..."_ Tim stopped and when he spoke again, his voice was full of tears. _"...I can't hate them. I've tried, but I can't."_

Ducky realized, suddenly, that he was still standing at the sink. He walked out of the kitchen and sat down in the living room.

"_It would be so much easier if I could just hate them. It would be easier if I could let it go...but it's never that easy. It's hardest to hate your friends."_

"Which friends?"

"_The ones who turn around and stab you in the back...again and again, just to make sure that no one ever mistakes them for a friend of yours."_

"This has happened?"

"_Once. Once before. But that was enough."_

"You think it will again?"

"_It already has, Ducky. I was just too blind to see it before."_

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," Ducky said.

"_I can't do it, again. What happens the next time? Or the time after that? They're not going to change."_

"True. In their essentials, they probably won't."

"_And I'm tired of it. I'm sick of being the butt of every joke, of being blamed for things that aren't my fault, tired of being attacked for trying to do things that I enjoy. I should have been able to leave that behind when I graduated from high school."_

"I think you're exaggerating, Timothy."

"_I requested working alone at Norfolk. Did you know that? When I first was hired, they let me make requests with no guarantee that I'd get what I wanted, of course. I asked for a solitary post. There weren't any specifically solitary, and even if I didn't get seasick, Agent Afloat is for experienced agents, not probies...but Norfolk was the next best thing. Sure, the office was crappy and I was bored and...unappreciated, but I was doing what I wanted and not being just the geek. I was happy there."_

"Then, why did you make the effort to be on Gibbs' team?"

"_Because I...wanted to be a field agent and that required being on a team."_

"There were many teams you could have chosen."

"_I thought..."_

"...that you would enjoy yourself with them?"

"_Yeah. Abby was...was there. Kate was nice to me...most of the time. Gibbs seemed to appreciate my schoolwork. Tony...he...I don't know."_

"What?"

"_He reminded me of a...a friend."_

"The friend who became an enemy?"

Silence.

"Timothy, I don't blame you for being angry. They do cross the line, but you should not make the mistake of mixing them up with the bullies who tormented you."

"_I don't have to. They're the same. Act like friends when someone is watching."_

"That's not the case and you know it."

"_Then, why don't they care?"_

Ducky suppressed a sigh. He could hear that Tim was hurt, but this was a pain he seemed to be holding onto rather than trying to let go. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to help him over the phone.

"They do care."

"_Not enough."_

"What is enough?"

"_Enough to ask what's wrong. Enough to _notice_. Enough to show me a modicum of respect beyond acknowledging that I'm good at working with computers. Something."_

"Well, you have what you want, now, Timothy. They have left you alone."

"_I know."_

"And is that better?"

"_Better than before."_

"Why?"

"_Because..."_

"Timothy, let me ask you something...and if I am wrong, I will apologize."

Silence.

"Are you certain that the reason you are hanging onto your anger at them for so long is not in part because you don't want to think about your guilt over what has happened to your father?"

Another long silence...and then, Tim hung up the phone.

Ducky sighed. He had known it would be risky to ask that of Tim...but it needed to be asked, because he suspected there was more than a particle of truth to it.

Sleep was far from him now and he leaned back against the couch to think.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stared at the phone. His eyes were red from the tears, from the number of times he'd furiously wiped them away. He didn't need Ducky to tell him what was wrong.

_Then, why did you call him?_

"McGee? I did not expect you to be awake."

Tim looked toward the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to...to talk to you."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"I don't want to talk to you," Tim said, trying to hide his face, to hide the tears.

"Very well. I was not intending to speak to you now."

"Then, why are you here?"

"I just...I merely wanted to see that you were all right...but I thought you would be sleeping and I could look and then go."

"Why? It's a three-hour drive. You saw me already today when you barged in here the first time. You've seen me often enough as it is. Nearly every day for three years. I haven't changed."

"Things like that can change quickly. I will go and let you sleep." Ziva turned and walked out into the hall.

"Wait."

Ziva turned around quickly. "Yes?"

"Say what you have to say and then you can go back to DC and leave me alone."

Ziva almost winced. "I wanted to say that I am sorry."

"For what?"

"For...for not asking what was wrong."

Tim's expression didn't soften. "Why didn't you?"

"Because it was easier to make it a joke."

"Easier for whom? For you?"

"Yes."

"You think admitting that makes everything okay?"

"Perhaps not. Words very rarely make things better."

"You're right. They don't." Tim lifted his head and looked her in the eye. "Ziva, why is that okay for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't mind being teased...most of the time. It's not like it never happened to me before I started working at NCIS. I'm used to that." His eyes flicked away from her briefly. "But you just admitted that you knew something was wrong and you decided to make a joke at my expense rather than ask a simple question. Why do you think that's okay?"

"I do not."

"Then, why did you do it?" Tim shot back immediately.

"I told you already. It was easier."

"And I still don't see why. You're supposed to be my friend, Ziva. You're supposed to care about...about me. ...but you don't."

"I do."

"No, you don't. I've seen what you do when you're concerned about someone. You spent almost a year worrying about Tony, following him around, asking him questions. You cornered him, multiple times, to try and get him to talk to you...because you cared...because you wanted him to let you in." He shook his head and smiled mirthlessly. "You didn't even invade the men's room to try and force it out of me. ...but you wouldn't have had to force it. I was worried. I was afraid. I wasn't sleeping well, and I was frustrated. I had _been_ frustrated for weeks...but you never asked. Not once. If you could see something was wrong why didn't you ask, even once? Why did you wait until I was driving away to try and talk to me? Why did you come here again, barge in on me...again...and try to apologize? Did you really not see why this bothers me? Do you really not understand why I'm mad?"

Ziva felt on the defensive and she didn't like feeling that way. It made her uncomfortable...and it made her angry because Tim, of all people, had managed to make her feel that.

"Why did you not mention it, even once? Why did you never say once to us that something was wrong?" she asked.

"What? Reveal the shocking news that geeks have feelings?"

"We know you have feelings, McGee."

Tim's expression was still the same. "I don't know if that's better or worse. Tell me is it better somehow that you know I have feelings and disregard them or is it better than you don't have a clue that I am fully equipped to feel emotion. Disregarded knowledge or total ignorance...which is worse, Ziva? You tell me."

"I have never heard you speak this way before, McGee."

"Shocker, isn't it. Never realized that I could get angry. Well..." Tim faltered for just a moment. Then, he began to shout. "...wake up, Ziva! Yes, I get angry! I can feel as much anger or _more_ than you or Tony or Gibbs or Abby. I just choose not to express it...because it never works. Even now, it's not working! I can't get you to leave me alone. I can't get you to understand. I can't manage to do any of the things that anger is supposed to do!" He stopped talking, breathing heavily, and his voice dropped abruptly to a whisper. "Did you have anything else to say, Ziva? Anything at all?"

"Only that I can see that you are not telling me everything, McGee. You are hiding something back still."

"Maybe I just don't trust you with the information. I don't know what you'll do with it," Tim said, his voice even.

Ziva couldn't hold back the wince this time. She could see that Tim had been trying to hurt her...and he had succeeded. Tim had never distrusted her before. She didn't look away from him though. She stared and he stared back in silence, his expression daring her to speak again.

"I will go," she said and turned to leave.

"Hurts, doesn't it," Tim said softly from behind her. She did not turn back. "It hurts to have your feelings tromped on."

"Yes, it does."

"Go back to DC, Ziva. I don't want you here."

Ziva couldn't bring herself to say any more. She walked out of the room. Only when she was safely in the hallway, distanced from the door, did she allow her eyes to fill with tears.

...but she did not go back to DC.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim watched Ziva walk away and sighed before leaning back. He pushed the button to completely recline the bed. Then, he turned onto his side and pulled the blanket up around his neck.

_Maybe if I go to sleep this will all disappear. Maybe _I_ can just disappear._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva was sitting in the waiting room at the hospital early the next morning when she saw someone familiar step through the doors.

"Mrs. McGee?" she asked, slightly hesitant.

The woman stopped at looked at her with momentary confusion which then dispersed and was replaced with a decidedly wary expression.

"Ziva David, correct?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you be working?"

Ziva smiled. "Yes. I have not used many personal days."

"But you are now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I should be here more than I should be in DC."

"I didn't think Tim would be very eager to see you."

"He is not," Ziva agreed and felt her face twist.

"Oh, dear. He got to you, didn't he."

Ziva nodded.

"Visiting hours don't actually start for another hour. Have you eaten breakfast?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

Ziva stood and nodded once again. "Thank you, Mrs. McGee."

"Please, call me Naomi. I know you refer to my son as McGee and it gets confusing."

"Very well, Naomi."

They walked out of the hospital and down the street to a nearby diner...the same one Gibbs had taken Naomi to the day before.

"Why do you think you should be here?" Naomi asked after they had both ordered.

"Because I hurt him more than I understood before."

"Yes, you all did. Tim said you went along."

"Yes, I did. I did not want to ask what was wrong."

"Why not?"

"I am not certain. I have thought about it many times since he first quit NCIS, but I do not know why I thought that it would be all right to ignore a problem. ...I had no idea it was so serious."

"That would have changed your behavior?"

"Yes."

Naomi took a deep breath and stared out the window. The sun was almost too bright after the storm. She looked back.

"I have been angry...at all of you, but at Agent Gibbs more than anyone else. Tim is my only son. He was my only child for a number of years." She looked back at Ziva. "I wish I could stay angry, but I can't. I have too many years of living in this world to be able to manage it."

"McGee is not that young."

"He's younger inside than you might think. It doesn't justify his behavior...but he has always been younger inside than out. He's always known more about theory than about practice. It's one of those things that NCIS has forced him to change...but it can't change it all."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To help you understand...because I think you want to. I think you_ can_. With Tim, it's not enough to say sorry when he hits his breaking point. My husband discovered that. There were some...bad days we had. Tim felt betrayed and refused even to _speak_ to Sam for days. When he did, he forced Sam to answer a number of hard questions and he wouldn't stop until Sam had. Even then, it took weeks for them to repair their relationship. Then...then, Tim's innate sense of responsibility reared its ugly head and came between them again."

Ziva jabbed at her plate, with no interest in the food there.

"While I appreciate that you are trying, I think right now...you need to give Tim space, time. Tim is...stubborn, particularly when he's in pain, be it physical or emotional. He's very sensitive to betrayal and..." Naomi stopped abruptly.

"We have not made your life easier have we," Ziva said.

"No, but that's not the biggest problem. The biggest problem you can't fix. It's one that no one can fix except Tim. The thing is...I don't know if he will. Not as things currently stand."

"Why? Naomi, why is Tim still so angry? I do wish to understand...but I...do not understand."

"Tim feels betrayed by you. He feels angry at the lack of caring he has perceived. He is hurt by what he sees as intentional ignorance. ...but more than that, he feels that he betrayed his own family by not coming when I first called him. He feels the same guilt he has felt for the last fifteen years...helped out by his sister."

"What do you mean?"

"Sarah called Tim on Friday. She accused him of caring more about NCIS than about the family...and she blamed him for Sam's paralysis."

Ziva cocked her head to the side and then her eyes widened. "That was the call."

"What?"

"Gibbs hung up McGee's phone...right before McGee quit. Gibbs hung up on Sarah." Ziva thought back to the conversation. "...right when McGee was trying to say that he did care. Tony..._we_ thought it was a girlfriend. No wonder he was so angry."

Naomi was silent, digesting the new information. Then, she leaned forward. "Ziva, I'm glad you came, but please, Tim needs time. He needs time to decompress from all the stress. He needs...more than any of us can give, but he needs to be left alone, for a while. Can you manage that?"

"I do not want to," Ziva said. She smiled sheepishly. "I do not..._enjoy_ standing aside and letting things happen."

"None of you do. I can tell. You're all...actors. Tim _wants_ to be an actor, the one who does things, but he's not really. He needs time to _think_ and... he needs time to let it go. Give him that time."

Ziva didn't want to, but as she looked at Naomi and remembered Tim's attitude, she knew that she couldn't do anything more here, in spite of her initial intention not to leave until Tim was okay. That was impractical and probably wouldn't work.

"I will do as you ask."

"Thank you." Naomi stood up. "Tim won't...but I promise to keep you in the loop."

"Thank you. I should go. It is a long drive."

"Not so long with you driving from what Tim says."

Ziva smiled. "I wish he did not hate me."

"Give him time."

"I will try." Ziva walked out of the diner with Naomi but in the hospital parking lot, they went their separate ways. Ziva went back to DC...and Naomi went to her son's room.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"About why you're here."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"Isn't it obvious, Mom?"

"No, Tim, it's not. Are you really willing to let everything you've worked for go in one moment?"

"Yes."

"What will you do instead? What will come anywhere near fulfilling the dream you had?"

"Nothing. Some dreams should just stay dreams."

"Which ones? Which dreams?"

"The ones that can't become reality. ...like this."

"NCIS?"

"Yes."

"It's been reality for almost six years."

"No. The dream just felt real. It was still a dream. It was always a dream."

"Why do you hate them now, Tim?"

"I don't," Tim said and looked away, wishing he could walk away but knowing that he wouldn't make it very far.

"Then, what are you doing?"

"Keeping them away."

"Why?"

"They could make me go back, Mom," Tim said. _No more crying, Tim. None._ "Nothing will change and it will all just happen again...but they could make me go back. I'm not going to let them do that to me again. They won't change."

"No, that's true," Naomi agreed. "They've been the way they are a lot longer than they've known you. While I agree that they were pretty bad this time, it's not fair for you to expect them to change just to suit you."

"I don't," Tim said, looking at her briefly before turning away again. "I know they won't. That's why I won't let them get me to come back. It's always the same."

"What is? Tim, you need to explain this to me. I don't understand."

"They act like friends for a while, but they aren't really. ...and I always believe them. I can't help it. ...and they always walk all over me. Every time."

And finally, the understanding dawned. A moment, thought to be buried forever in the past, reared its ugly, cruel head in this horribly parallel circumstance.

"Tim, that was fifteen years ago."

"And yet...it's still exactly the same."

"No, it's not. Tim, it's completely different."

Tim shook his head. "No, Mom. That was just a template...for how things work in my life." He laughed. "The sad thing was that I had believed it wasn't going to be that way. I believed that it was different...but it's not. It's not different at all."

Naomi tried to reach to him, but this time, Tim wouldn't allow himself to be comforted. He was fifteen years in the past, reliving an event he had tried so hard to inter.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Look, Mom! No more crutches!" Tim announced. He stood...carefully...on his own two legs._

"_Are you sure he's ready?" Naomi asked the doctor._

"_Absolutely. He could have been off them a week ago, but it's safer to be sure there's no overall weakness hidden by the dependence. He's been off them at physical therapy for two weeks."_

_Naomi was shocked as she looked at her son. Tim had never said a word. He smiled._

"_I wanted it to be a surprise!"_

"_It is. It's a great surprise, Tim. Why don't we go and show your father?"_

_Tim's smile faded and he became, somehow, older than he was._

"_He'll be happy for you, Tim. You know he will."_

"_I _don't_ know, Mom. Dad's not happy...not lately."_

"_He'll be happy, Tim. He will. Come on." She put her arm around him and led him out to the car._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A hand touched her hair. A touch became a gentle pressure.

"Yours is the second most beautiful face in the world."

Sarah lifted her head from where she'd been sleeping. She could hardly believe what she'd heard.

"Dad?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Tim came home in the same silence that had taken over his life since the week before._

"_We're going to see your father today, Tim. Do you want to come?"_

_He shook his head._

"_He wants to talk to you."_

_Tim only shook his head again._

"_Timmy, come on!" Sarah begged. "Please, come. It's not so scary with you."_

_Tim still shook his head resolutely and went upstairs to his room. He didn't come down again until supper._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Forgotten me already?" Sam asked, a tired smile gracing his lips.

"Dad!" Sarah launched herself onto the bed and threw her arms around him, holding him tightly. "Dad, don't ever do that again!"

"No plans at the moment. I promise." Sam returned the hug. "But you should give me a chance to get my breath, Sarah."

Sarah was laughing and crying at the same time. "I was afraid you wouldn't wake up. I wanted you to, but I...was afraid you wouldn't."

"A wise man said that 'healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.' Hippocrates. You just have to be patient."

"I've missed that. I've missed your incessant quoting, Dad."

"I'm glad." Sam looked around. "Where's your mother?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Dan invited me to a party," Tim said when he came home the next day. "He said that they want to celebrate my lack of crutches."_

"_Dan? He hasn't spoken to you in years, Tim," Naomi said. "What caused the change?"_

"_I don't know," Tim said, but a rare smile crossed his face. "Maybe he wants to be friends again. We were friends all through elementary..._and_ junior high."_

"_Tim, I don't want to rain on your parade, but Dan's been running with..."_

"_Yeah...but they haven't done anything to me for weeks." _Not even knocking my books to the floor,_ Tim added to himself._

"_I was hoping you'd come to the hospital with us, tonight, Tim."_

_Tim shook his head again._

"_You can't stay away from him forever, Tim. He's your father."_

_Tim looked at his feet for a moment. "He didn't act like my dad. My dad wouldn't have done that." He paused. "Can I go?"_

_Naomi sighed. "Yes, Tim. Yes, you can go."_

_Her capitulation was rewarded by another small smile. "Thanks, Mom."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I should get Dr. Chan. He said you'd wake up."

"Sarah."

Sarah leaned over and pushed the call button, but she didn't get far away before Sam caught hold of her.

"Sarah, where's your mother?"

"Mom's...in Maryland."

"Why?" Sam asked, but as Dr. Chan came into the room, his paternal instincts kicked in. "Where's Tim?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_The front door slammed shut and feet pounded up the stairs. The noise almost blocked out the tears. Almost._

_Naomi was up in an instant. The door to Tim's bedroom was locked._

"_Tim? Timothy McGee, open this door!"_

"_Mommy?"_

"_Sarah, go back to bed."_

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Just go back to bed, Sarah." Naomi knocked on the door. "Tim, let me in."_

_There was no response, but she heard the closet doors close. She sighed, knowing something bad must have happened._

"_Mommy, can I help?"_

_Naomi almost said no, but then she smiled. "Yes, you can, Sarah. Remember when I showed you how to unlock a door if you got shut in?"_

_Sarah smiled and nodded. She ran off to her bedroom and was back a moment later with a wire hanger. She unbent the hook and stuck it expertly into the hole in the doorknob. Less than a minute later, she was pushing open the door._

"_Thank you. Okay, Sarah. I need you to wait here while I talk to Tim. Okay?"_

"_Okay."_

"_Right here." Naomi pointed at a specific spot in the hall. "If you wait right here, you can wait until I'm done talking to Tim; if not, I'll make you go right to bed."_

"_I'll wait right here."_

"_Good." Naomi stood and walked into the dark room, to the closet where Tim hid when things were bad. She knocked on the door. "Tim, can I come in?"_

_Only tears answered her. She cracked open the door._

"_Tim."_

"_Go 'way, Mom."_

"_What happened, Tim?" She pulled the door open the rest of the way. The light from the hall was enough. "Tim!"_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim...was on his way here," Sarah began. She stopped and looked at Dr. Chan.

"Examine me later, Doc," Sam said, his attention on his daughter.

"Can do. Should I come back?" Dr. Chan asked.

"Yes."

"Just push the button when you're ready," he said and respectfully withdrew.

"Sarah."

"Tim was in an accident on his way here...on Friday. It's Monday."

"Is he all right?"

"Mom's with him. I think he's okay, but I've only talked to her a bit. It was bad...and...and it was kind of my fault." Sarah dropped her head in shame.

"What do you mean?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_I'm never going back. Never. Never," Tim said._

"_Tim, what is that?" It was red._

"_P-Paint. P-P-Paint balls," Tim stammered. "That was the party. I'm not going back. I don't care about f-f-finishing the year. I could skip the last three weeks and still get A's. I'm not going back. Ever."_

_Naomi felt her blood start to boil, but for the moment, she pushed it down._

"_Tell me, Tim. Exactly what happened."_

"_I don't want to."_

"_Tim, I'm going to make a full report of this. I need to know."_

"_NO!"_

"_Yes. Tim, tell me."_

_Haltingly, knowing he couldn't resist his mother (who had nearly become a lawyer), Tim let out his humiliation._

"_I got to the house. There was no one there...no one but...but Dan. He said the party was in the p-p-park. Special. Just for me." Tim began to cry._

"_Mom, can I help more?"_

"_No, Sarah. Just wait a bit," Naomi called back. "Go on, Tim."_

"_When...when we got there, Dan just disappeared. It was so dark. The lights were out. Then...then, I saw...shapes, moving through the trees, behind the bushes." A hand moved across his forehead and came away with a drying glob of red paint. "The first one...hit me in the face. I couldn't see. There was...p-p-paint in my eyes. They were everywhere. They told me to run now that I could. Run away. I couldn't see where they were. I...I...I kept running into them. They pushed me down. I tried to get away, but I couldn't. I couldn't... I'm never going back."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I told Tim it was his fault."

Sam was very still. "What was his fault? What, Sarah?"

"You...being in a coma," Sarah said, her face still down. "I've been wanting to apologize, but Mom said it wasn't the right time, not yet."

"You blamed Tim for this?"

"Yes."

"Sarah, look at me."

Sarah lifted her head. What she saw in Sam's eyes was much worse than anger. It was disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"Don't say it to me."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_It took a long time to wash off all the paint. It wasn't the usual washable stuff. This was real oil-based paint. Tim had a black eye from the one that had hit him in the face. His body was riddled with welts and bruises. His clothes, new ones, were ruined. When Naomi was finally able to convince Tim to come out of the closet, Sarah had quietly helped clean up. She didn't make fun. She just fetched the things Naomi asked her to get. Tim stopped crying, but he was still adamant that he would never go back to school again. Thankfully, it had happened on a Friday night._

_Naomi not only called the school. She also called the police. Tim had only seen Dan up close, although he said that he knew who the others were by their voices. Saturday morning, he still refused to return to school. He said he wouldn't be valedictorian. He wouldn't go to graduation. He was going to stay in the house until it was time to move to MIT._

"_Tim, you can't let them win."_

"_They did. I didn't do anything but fall down," Tim said bitterly, Saturday afternoon. "They always win."_

"_No, Tim. That's not how it works. You only lose if you stop fighting."_

"_Like Dad?" Tim asked, his voice full of the hurt anger that had colored every word out of his mouth._

"_He's fighting again, Tim."_

"_He gave up."_

"_For a while, but not anymore. Please, Tim. Please, talk to him."_

"_No. I'm not going anywhere. I won't."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's all right?" Sam asked after a long moment.

"Mom said he would be, but that he was hurt pretty badly."

"You can call Dr. Chan, now, Sarah."

"Don't be mad at me, Dad."

"I'm not, Sarah. I love you, but I'm not going to pretend I'm anything but disappointed that you would do something like that to someone who loves you so much."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Sunday came and Tim didn't budge. The police talked to him. The school talked to him. He told them what they wanted to know, but it didn't matter because he was not going back to school._

_Monday came. Tim refused to go back to school. All the bad things happened when he left the house. So he was staying. It didn't matter to him that Dan had expressed remorse upon learning that Tim's dad, whom he had always admired, was in the hospital. It didn't matter that he'd given up the masterminds, that they had been expelled. None of it mattered._

_Tuesday...Wednesday...Thursday... Tim wouldn't even go out in the backyard. He wasn't just hurt. He was angry in a way he'd felt for the first time only recently when he'd discovered his father ready to commit suicide. It was an emotion he wasn't even trying to control._

"_Timmy?"_

"_Go away, Sarah. I'm busy."_

"_With what?"_

"_School."_

"_You're not going to school. You said that."_

"_I still have homework."_

"_Then, that's not school. It's home."_

"_Go away, Sarah."_

"_Why are you so mad at everyone, Timmy?"_

"_Because."_

"_Are you mad at me?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because you're bothering me."_

"_Do you hate me, Timmy?"_

_Tim looked up from his desk. The black eye glowing on his face. The welts on his arms red painful blotches._

"_No, Sarah. I don't hate you."_

"_Do you hate Dad?"_

_Tim turned back._

"_Go away."_

"_Do you hate Dad?"_

"_Go away, Sarah."_

"_Timmy, don't be mad."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because it makes you lonely."_

"_It's better that way."_

"_Don't hate Dad. He feels bad, Tim."_

_A long pause._

"_I don't hate Dad."_

"_Then, come and talk to him. Come with us, Tim."_

"_I don't want to."_

"_Why not?"_

"_I don't want to see him...not like that."_

"_Please, Timmy."_

"_I can't, Sarah. Not yet."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, you can't let what those people did so long ago rule your life now."

"It's not."

"In the words of the whatever generation, whatever, Tim."

Tim couldn't help but smile, but it didn't last. "I'm tired of it."

"You have to keep fighting, Tim. You can't just give up."

"Fighting doesn't work out so well for me, Mom. Remember?"

"Don't make me repeat what I told you before."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Sunday came around again. Tim still refused to go to school or to see Sam._

"_Mom?"_

"_Yes, Tim?"_

"_Maybe I should go back to school."_

_Naomi didn't look up from her desk...she was paying the seemingly insurmountable bills._

"_Not if you don't want to."_

"_I was thinking about what you said."_

"_What was that?"_

"_About fighting."_

"_What about it?"_

"_You told me...back when I first started high school that I shouldn't fight...but that if I did to make sure I won."_

_Naomi smiled. "You would remember that."_

"_I want to win, Mom...but I don't know... They always win."_

_Naomi straightened and looked at her son. "No, they don't. They only win if you let them win."_

"_How do I stop them?"_

"_By going back to school and not letting them keep you from what you love."_

"_And by being valedictorian?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Will it really work?"_

"_Yes. Tim, it will work. The only way bullies _ever_ win is by people giving them the victory. If you refuse to lose, then you win. Every time."_

"_Does that work for everything?"_

"_Most things."_

_Tim nodded. "Okay. Will you make sure I wake up on time?"_

"_I can do that."_

_Tim nodded again and walked away._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"There's nothing to fight for anymore."

"Yes, there is, Tim. Just like before. You're fighting for something you love."

"No. Not anymore. It's..." Tim sighed. "...I was wrong."

"No, Tim. No, the only thing you were wrong about was giving up fighting."

"It doesn't work."

"Yes, it does. You were fighting when you yelled at them the first time...but you gave up when you tried to keep them away. You were doing what you did before. You were hiding from the things, the _people_ you cared for. You understood that before. That's why you were valedictorian. That's why you forced your father to confront what he had done to you. That's why..." Naomi felt the tears that always came to her eyes when she remembered. "...why you were able to walk down from that stage and give your speech right next to your father. That's why you have been successful, why you have achieved your dreams. Don't give them up now. Tim, don't walk away from what you want, not out of fear."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_...The list of people I need to thank could go on forever, but there are two people I really need to thank. ...and I need to do it right here." Tim, surprising everyone, stepped down from the podium. He crossed the stage and walked over to the edge of the auditorium where his family was sitting. He raised his voice so that he could be heard. "I want to thank my mother for teaching me how to win. ...and I want...to thank my dad...for being here, for teaching me so much about life."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I still have a copy of your valedictory address. Tim, you were right in that speech. You stood there and you spoke from your heart."

"I was sixteen, Mom."

"And a lot smarter than you're acting right now."

"Mom..."

"What, Tim?"

"It's gone. I can't get it back. It's all gone."

"No, Tim. You can still fight for what you want."

"What I really want...I can't have."

"What's that?"

"I want Dad to be okay."

"He will be, Tim. He will."

Tim closed his eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't hope anymore."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Another deep breath, Sam."

Sam obeyed.

"Let it out."

Sam exhaled.

"Good. We're going to have to keep you here for a few days for observation, but I'm much encouraged."

"Then, have I your permission to find out about my son?"

"Of course. I'm surprised you let me examine you first, to be honest," Dr. Chan said, grinning.

"I had to make sure." Sam looked over at Sarah who was sitting anxiously. "Sarah, find out the number for the hospital. If your mother isn't picking up her phone, she must be with Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, I can't fight _for_ you. I can't do it now any more than I could do it fifteen years ago. ...but I don't want to see you give up because you're feeling guilty and afraid."

The phone beside Tim's bed rang. He looked at it worriedly.

"Answer it, Tim," Naomi said. "With what you've said already, it can hardly be a surprise."

Tim gave a half-hearted smile and picked up the phone, wondering which member of the team was trying now.

"Hello?" Instead of sounding angry, he sounded afraid.

"_Tim?"_

Tim's breath caught and he looked at Naomi with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

His voice was a mere whisper. "Dad."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The word was like a dam breaking and Tim started to sob into the phone, unable to speak, unable to say anything, not even to reassure Sam who was trying to get a response from him. Naomi reached out and took the phone from his weak fingers.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

"_Naomi, what's going on?"_

"It's..." Naomi sat down on the bed and put her free arm around Tim who was still crying. "...a long story, Sam. Are you all right?"

"_I will be. Dr. Chan gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up. What's wrong with Tim? Is this about what Sarah said to him?"_

"In part...not completely."

"_What's the rest of it?"_

"Fear of being taken in again. Fear of a...repeat of his senior year of high school."

Sam was quiet for a few seconds. _"After I..."_

"Yes."

"_Let me talk to him...even if he can't talk back."_

"Tim, your father wants to talk to you," Naomi said, holding out the phone. Tim shook his head. "Yes, Tim. Take the phone."

"No. No, I've ruined everything. There's...nothing to say. Everything is..."

"Timothy, take the phone."

Finally, Tim accepted the phone.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"_Don't start that, Tim."_

"I'm so... so sorry."

"_It's not your fault now, any more than it was your fault fifteen years ago. You _know_ that. I'm just glad that I can talk to you."_

"I quit. I quit NCIS and I can't go back. I can't go through it all again, Dad. I can't. It's just like before."

"_You quit? Why? Tim, those are your friends. Those are the people you described to us once as a second family...complete with the annoying siblings."_

"I was wrong. They're not. They don't care."

"_They do, Tim. I don't have to be around to know that they care, that they would bend over backwards for you."_

"No, Dad. No. They don't. They're just like Dan. They're only sorry after it's over."

"_Tim, are you giving up?"_

"They already did. I won't go back."

"_Tim, you remember James Baldwin?"_

"He's not British, Dad," Tim said with a shaky laugh.

"_Not all the greats were British...but the British did have Winston Churchill which makes them pretty good in my book. James Baldwin."_

"What about him?"

"_You tell me."_

Tim shook his head. "There's nothing."

"_Tim, you know that's not true. I can think of a few."_

"It's not about that."

"_Yes, it is. I can hear it in your voice. I can tell by what you've said. I may have been out of it for a few days but I'm not stupid, Tim. Tell me."_

"'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.'"

"_That wasn't the one I was thinking of."_

"What, then?"

"'_I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone... they will be forced to deal with pain.'"_

"No, Dad."

"_Don't lie to me, Tim. Even more important, don't lie to yourself. They hurt you, didn't they."_

"They made me mad."

"_No, they hurt you. How?"_

"They didn't care."

"_How do you know?"_

"Because they didn't try to find out what was wrong. They just teased me...they used what they noticed to make my life miserable, not better. They only pretend to care...only when things like this happen. They don't care any other time. They treat me however they want to without thinking about how I might feel. They treat me like I'm a...a geek. It's always the same."

"_Tim, calm down and think about what you're saying."_

"Dad, you sound so tired."

"_I've been sleeping long enough. Listen to me: you need to stop running away. Stop running away from the things you're afraid of, from the people who frighten you, from the situations you're afraid will come up again. ...and you need to stop letting yourself feel guilty. I know that's hard and we've come a long way, you and I, in addressing that...but it's not enough if it comes back every time I have a problem. Tim, I'm going to. Something will happen. It will happen again and again. That's my lot and I've accepted it."_

"I don't want to."

"_You have to, Tim...because there's nothing you can do about it."_

"I want to hate them, Dad. I want to get away from it happening again...because it will. One day, it will be just as bad."

Sam sighed. _"If you live your life that way, Tim, you'll never really live."_

"Who said that?" Tim asked.

"_I did...although I know others have said variants. Tim, you need to separate what happened to me from what happened to you."_

"Why? It's all connected."

"_No. It really isn't. The connection is you and nothing else."_

Tim couldn't answer. He just sighed and felt a few more tears fall.

"_Let me quote one more thing from James Baldwin, okay?"_

"I can't really stop you. I never could."

Sam laughed...but he really did sound tired. _"He said, 'not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.' If you just run, Tim, the problem isn't going to go away. You'll find it everywhere you go. There's no place safe enough that you won't run into the same problems. You've found a niche in NCIS. Don't give it up. Fight for it...like you made me fight for my life."_

"I'm tired, Dad."

"_Me, too. ...but the difference, Tim, is that by tomorrow, I won't be tired, not much anyway. ...but if you can't let this go...if you can't allow yourself to think about it logically, you'll still be tired. You can't recover from something like this by pretending it's something else. The people at NCIS aren't like Dan. They aren't like any of those other kids who made your life miserable. The NCIS people might be a bit clueless, but they do care about you. Think, Tim! You're too smart to do otherwise!"_

"Do you want to talk to Mom?"

There was a sigh. _"Yes, Tim. Let me talk to your mother."_

"Sam?"

"_He's really messed up this time, Naomi."_

"You _do_ sound tired."

"_I have Sarah making frantic gestures at me to hang up and Dr. Chan is standing over me with stethescope in hand. I'll have to give in to their insistence eventually."_

"You're right."

"_I really thought we'd dealt with the last of this years ago."_

"So did I."

"_Life's never easy for the McGees, is it."_

"No, it's not. You really should rest, Sam."

"_All right, all right. Don't worry about me, Naomi. I'll be wheeling my way to work again in no time."_ There was a muffled sound. _"Okay, in a week or two...or three. No more than that."_

"I love you, Sam."

"_Love you, Naomi. I can't tell you how disappointing it was to wake up without seeing your beautiful face. Sarah was a worthy substitute, however."_

"Oh, you! Go to sleep before I make you regret it."

"_Yes, ma'am."_ Sam hung up and Naomi looked at Tim. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep.

"Listen to your father, Tim."

Tim didn't reply. He kept his eyes closed and she let him pretend he was asleep.

"I'll be by later." She kissed him gently on the forehead and left him alone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The mood was subdued in the bullpen that day. When Ziva showed up in the afternoon, she said nothing about her absence...and no one asked. There was no major case for them to work on; so they spent the day catching up on reports, old case files, things like that.

"Agent Gibbs," Vance called down.

Gibbs looked up.

"Come into my office, please."

"On my way." Gibbs got up and left.

Ziva kept working...until Tony couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Where were you? You went back, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. It did no good."

"Still angry?"

"Yes." She didn't look up.

"Ziva."

"What?" Ziva kept her eyes on her monitor.

"Do we deserve it?"

"What?"

"McGee hating us. Do we deserve it, you think?"

"To a degree. Yes."

"I don't think _you _do."

Ziva looked up. "I do, Tony."

"No." He shook his head and looked at his monitor. "You and McGee...you're friends. You _act_ like friends. You treat him like he's a friend. Me?" He shook his head again. "Friend, brother...they wouldn't treat him like I was last week...like I treat him all the time. He's right. It's not enough that I bugged him at his place for hours after he shot Benedict. I take advantage of the kind of person he is. You don't do that, Ziva."

"Perhaps not...but I go along with you when it suits me."

"Everyone does that. _McGee_ does that."

"Yes...but I think it is a bit different when I know that he is troubled and I still go along with you."

"Maybe." Tony looked up toward Vance's office. "What do think they're talking about? Gibbs didn't turn in the forms today."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I snooped. They're still sitting there, empty."

"Many things will have to change in order for McGee to wish to come back. I think he is grasping at straws."

"Hey, you got it right."

"I _do_ know a few of them, Tony." Ziva followed Tony's gaze. "How is Abby taking it?"

"Badly."

"Worse than you?"

"Yeah. She doesn't want it to be her fault."

"I do not blame her for that. It is hard to take blame."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"It was his sister."

"Huh?" Tony looked back at Ziva.

"The call that Gibbs hung up. The one that you said was a girlfriend. It was his sister. Sarah was accusing Tim of not caring about his father because he was working. She said that their father being paralyzed was his fault."

"...oh..." There seemed nothing to say to that...but Tony tried. "...that's...oh, man. I didn't think I could feel worse."

"_Do _you feel bad?"

Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Of course I do! No matter what McGee thinks, I'm not totally heartless."

Ziva looked at him expressively.

"Don't lay that all on me! I screwed up! I screwed up bad. I know that." He stood. "But don't try to pretend that I don't know how to feel bad about it...because I do! I don't want McGee to leave here just because I'm an idiot!" He stalked away to the men's room.

Ziva watched him leave, thought about following him...and decided against it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby hugged Bert to her while she waited for her computer to spit out the results she wanted. Every few minutes, she looked to the side, to the place where Tim had so often worked beside her. They had fought in here. They had goofed off in here. They had worked together. He had risked his own life to pull her out of the lab when she had smelled cyanide. ...and she had forced him to hang up on his mother...and never bothered to ask him what was so important to him.

"I miss you, Timmy," she said softly to the empty lab. Her music was on, but it wasn't helping fill the emptiness.

She hugged Bert again...but she didn't really want to hug Bert. She wanted to hug Tim...and he wasn't there.

"...because of me," she said softly. She turned Bert to face her. "He's not here because of me, Bert. He left because I wasn't thinking of him. I was thinking of me. I always do that. It's always about me." She bit her lip. "And now he's gone...and he hates me. I don't want him to hate me anymore, Bert. I want him to come back...but he won't...because he hates all of us." The computer beeped a positive result at her and she sighed, setting Bert down to do her job.

"I wish I could take it back."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance looked at the form in front of him. "I'm not sure I really understand your reasoning, Agent Gibbs. Agent McGee quit...quite obviously on Friday. He made it clear he did not want to be here. You have his badge. ...and you're trying to tell me that he didn't really quit?"

"Leon...McGee is going to regret quitting. Maybe not today, maybe not even this week or next week...but he's going to regret it. He might not want to come back _here_. I wouldn't blame him, but he shouldn't be punished for what really was a failure on my part. He was in an accident. He's not able to work. The form is clear. I've signed it."

"You've signed a request for sick leave for a person who has expressed his desire to no longer work for NCIS...and I'm fairly certain that is _not_ Agent McGee's signature."

"I never turned in the forms for that. In the eyes of HR, he's still employed by NCIS."

"Gibbs, are you sure you're not just trying to assuage your own conscience?"

"That's part of it," Gibbs admitted. "It's also the right thing to do. You know it. All it needs is your signature."

"We're all cash-strapped right now. You know that. Paying for sick leave is..."

"The right thing to do," Gibbs said again. "Take it out of my paycheck, from my sick leave if you have to. Goodness knows, McGee deserves it. He needs the time to make a decision without having so much hanging over him. If he still decides to quit, fine...but it would be wrong to do anything else right now."

Vance raised his eyebrows at the impassioned speech.

"Come on, I know you like McGee."

Vance chuckled. "All right, Agent Gibbs. He has enough saved up, rarely taken a sick day in the six years he's been employed at NCIS. He's also worked way more overtime than some others here. I'll give him time. I'd hate to lose him to the private sector."

"Thanks, Leon."

"Don't mention it, Jethro. Really."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You seem tired, Doctor."

"I am rather, Mr. Palmer."

Jimmy pushed the body into the drawer.

"Did you have a hot date?"

Ducky tried to look severe, but Jimmy's occasionally inappropriate comments were much more likely to ring a laugh out of him.

"No, Mr. Palmer."

"Sorry. Too personal?"

"Wrong time, we'll say."

"Yes, sir."

"I received a call from Timothy, since you asked."

"Is he going to be okay, Dr. Mallard?"

"Physically, yes."

"No...I mean..."

"I know what you mean. I'm afraid that I don't know. I hope for the best, but based upon what he said to me, I'm not at all certain." Ducky yawned widely. "Sorry. We have work to be doing, Mr. Palmer."

"Yes, Doctor."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes. He had truly fallen asleep after Naomi left...but now, he was awake again...alone.

_I'm tired of fighting,_ he thought. _...but where else can I go? What else can I do?_

He sat up, feeling miserable...seeing Dan's leering face, hearing his voice (_Hey, Geek!_). He never heard the halting apology when he thought of Dan. He never saw Dan's regret for what he'd done. Those two things had happened only once after four years of torment. Dan had been three years older than Tim (held back one year in elementary school) but they grew up in the same neighborhood and so had been friends...until high school, until Tim had been accelerated. It shouldn't have made such a difference, but it had. Suddenly, Dan was his worst enemy, instead of his best friend. He was no longer Tim McGee. He was the geek. Just a geek.

_I'm tired of being treated that way._

Dan had been so much fun in middle school. He had neat ideas and he enjoyed trying them out with Tim. ...but then, he'd gone to high school...and Tim had ended up going with him. Tim had never forgotten the first time Dan had joined in with the other kids in teasing him. It had been a de-pantsing in gym class. He'd gotten detention for it...and somehow, that had been Tim's fault. After that, the teasing had become more covert...and nastier.

_Just a geek._

It wasn't until Tim's accident that Dan had softened...or seemed to. He had come by once to see Tim at the hospital. When Tim came back to school, he hadn't sought Tim's company by any means, but no one had teased him or bothered him.

_...and they were just saving it up. Just like everyone else. Nice when things are bad, mean when they're not._

Tim sighed and felt teary again. He didn't want to cry. Crying was like admitting that he was sorry.

_I'm _not_ sorry. I'm not. If I went back, it would be just the same. Dad's okay again. I'd be okay again...and everything would be back to the way it was._

Deep inside, though, he was sorry.

...and a tear fell.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

For the next few days, Tim didn't talk much, and Naomi didn't press him. She came and sat with him every day. The little conversation they _did_ have was confined to inconsequential things. She could see in his eyes that he was wrestling with himself, daring himself to believe that things could work out...and not making it that far. Everyone had talked to him. Tim himself had done a lot of talking (or shouting). Now, whatever arguing left to be done...had to take place in Tim's head because it was an argument he needed to have with himself.

By Thursday, she was starting to long to be in Ohio with Sam. She spoke with him every day, but it wasn't enough to hear his voice. She wanted to be _with_ him, to _see_ that he was getting better. ...but she didn't want to leave Tim alone here in a small town in Maryland. The NCIS team had done as requested and stayed away. Tim had not made any effort to contact them...although he had the messages from Ziva and Ducky still sitting beside the phone.

The problem was that, as Tim's doctor had predicted, he had not healed enough to be released. Although she'd been told that this would more than likely be the case, Naomi was saddened by it, by the implications. On Friday, one week (only a week?) after Tim's accident, Naomi went into Tim's room to find him sitting by the window, staring morosely out at the morning sun.

"Tim?"

"Hey, Mom."

"What are you doing?"

"Same old, same old." He looked at her, smiled and then resumed his staring. "You should go, you know."

"What?"

"You should go. Back home. I'm not at death's door. You miss Dad. You haven't seen him out of his coma. I know you're worried about him. You should go."

"I can't leave you here, Tim."

"Yeah, you can." Tim turned away from the window. "In fact, you _should_. Mom, I know you're probably bored out of your skull sitting around here. We're not talking about anything important."

"Tim, I'm not going to leave you here by yourself."

"Please, Mom. I hate to think you worrying about Dad when you don't have to be here. Please, go."

"I'd rather wait and have us go together."

"Looks like that's going to be a few more days," Tim said, smiling faintly. "Don't worry. No more childhood demons to rear their heads. No more contemporary friendships to lose. Dad's not likely to fall into another coma. Sarah's already been as angry as she ever was at me. I quit my job, lost my car and I'm stuck in a town in Maryland. Not much more can possibly happen to me."

"That's why I don't want to leave, Tim," Naomi said, not smiling. "I think you wish there _was_ something worse."

"Mom, just go. I won't feel abandoned. Please. I want you to."

Naomi met his gaze, not looking away. Tim didn't either. For both of them, their eyes were truly the windows to their souls. What Naomi saw there was pain...and she hated it...but she also had to trust her son. At some point, he would have to make a decision...and he'd always done better at that by himself, without people trying to tell him what to do.

"All right, Tim. You had better call."

"Of course."

Naomi leaned over and hugged him as tightly as she could without hurting him. Tim hugged her back and for a moment, Tim was not her thirty-one year-old son. He was sixteen, damaged by far too many things all at once. Then, he pulled away.

"If you go now, you can make it before noon."

"Not quite."

"Close, though. I'll be okay, Mom."

"I don't know that you will right now...but I'll trust you." She kissed his forehead. "Come home as soon as you can. We want to see you. Sarah needs to talk to you."

"No, she doesn't," Tim said, shaking his head. It was strange, at first glance, that Tim's anger didn't extend to Sarah...but Tim felt that she was right...and he couldn't be angry at his sister for long anyway. She had him wrapped around her finger.

"I love you, Tim. No matter what else, don't forget that."

"I won't."

Naomi left, her heart twisted with the anxiety of knowing that she had to choose between her husband and her son. They were just too far apart.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat on the chair, staring out the window for a couple of hours before he finally gave into the twinges in his abdomen that said there was too much pressure in that region. He got back into bed and sighed with relief as he reclined. He hated feeling like this, like he couldn't lead life as he wanted to, i.e. upright, with regular movement. A thought began to germinate in his head, turning round and round. At first, he wasn't even aware of why he wanted to do it. He just knew that it had to be better than this...but he hesitated. His mother was probably nearly to Ohio by now and she'd be sure to call. His phone was destroyed. He would need to get a new one.

...and that was the first thought he'd given to the future in days. He realized that he'd just been sitting not thinking about anything much...because every thought seemed to lead to the painful recent past...and the still painful distant past.

It wasn't fair that he should be having all this difficulty. It just wasn't fair! Decision made, he picked up his phone and dialed. It was a number he hadn't called often, but his mind worked well with numbers. He hesitated before hitting the last one. This would be asking more than he should...but...

"_Hello?"_

"Hi...Jimmy."

"_McGee?"_

"Yeah."

"_I can't remember the last time you called me. What's up?"_

"Do you have a minute?"

"_Sure. I'm on lunch. I don't have...busy lunches...not anymore."_

Tim winced at the reference, but he couldn't think of anything to say to it. "Sorry."

"_That's okay. What do you need?"_

"Well...I was hoping...and you're under no obligation to agree. I don't want you to feel like you have to or anything." _Oh, for heaven's sake, spit it out, Tim!_ "...could you give me a ride?"

"_A ride? Where? Aren't you still in the hospital?"_

"Yeah. I am. I know it's a huge inconvenience, but my car is totaled. I made arrangements to get it towed to a repair shop closer to home, but I wouldn't be allowed to drive yet anyway. I want to go back."

"_Back where?"_

"Back home, to Silver Spring. I...I'm tired of being here."

"_I'm on the clock right now."_

"Oh, I know. I'm not in a rush. Maybe...tomorrow?"

"_Oh, I see. Sure."_

"I'll pay for gas."

There was a chuckle. _"You don't have to do that, McGee."_

"Please, let me pay. That's six hours of driving all together and no matter how much gas has gone down, it's still expensive."

"_Okay. Far be it from to turn down saving money. I'll be there bright and early tomorrow morning."_

"Thanks, Jimmy. I can't even tell you how much I appreciate it. I couldn't think of anyone to call."

There was a pause as the significance of that statement hit home for both of them.

"_See you tomorrow, McGee."_

"Right. Thanks."

Tim hung up. It was amazing how easily friends were lost. ...lost. That made it sound so innocent...like misplacing one's keys. Set them down and they disappear...or they never were at all. ...and yet...

_Dan and I were friends for a long time._ It had been so easy to be friends with Dan...until suddenly it was impossible. Intractably, his mind moved from the past to the present. Friends...coworkers. Coworkers first...except in Abby's case. He'd lost Kate (another misplacement...) and then the rest of them just disappeared like they never were. Lost forever in the miasma of life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Saturday..._

Jimmy stood awkwardly as he watched Tim, now fully clothed, argue with his doctor. He'd had no idea that Tim was going to be just _leaving_. He thought that Tim was being released. He wasn't sure if he should say anything. Tim was not angry, he noticed. He was just firm. He would not back down. There was something about how he was sitting, something about his expression that said there was nothing the doctor could do about it. ...and the doctor seemed to realize it...finally.

"Tim, this is a bad idea."

"No, it's not. I'll sign the AMA form, but I'm within my rights to leave if I so desire. I do. I'm going."

"Very well." He sighed, but Jimmy could have sworn he saw the smallest twinkle in the doctor's eye. He just stood silently, waiting to be told they were going. To be honest, he wasn't really looking forward to being confined in a small space with Tim for the next three hours. He'd never seen Tim like he'd been the last week and even though the anger wasn't directed at him personally, Jimmy didn't like it.

Within moments, however, Tim had signed the AMA form and they were heading out of the hospital. Tim stood slowly and got into the passenger side of Jimmy's car. Then, they headed off back toward DC.

The first hour was spent in almost total silence. Jimmy had turned on the radio, only to have an old-time barbershop quartet come out. He hadn't looked at Tim but had flushed and turned off the radio. Tim said nothing. The rare moments when Jimmy dared look over to the black hole on the other side of the car, Tim was staring out the window.

Finally, Jimmy couldn't take the silence. He turned on the radio again. More barbershop quartet. He flushed again but since he liked the music, he decided it would be better than the awkward silence.

"_...the dearest flow'r that grows,  
__And some day for my sake,  
__She may let me take  
__The bloom from my wild Irish rose."_

"There was a barbershop quartet in my high school," Tim said softly.

Jimmy looked over in relief. Tim was still staring out the window. There was a small smile on his face.

"You sing?" Jimmy asked.

"Not really. They were part of the drama department. I think the strength in numbers thing worked for them." He didn't elaborate.

"_How can there be any sin in sincere  
__Where is the good in goodbye?  
__Your apprehensions confuse me dear  
__Puzzle and mystify (Mystify)  
__Tell me what can be fair in farewell, dear  
__While one single star shines above  
__How can there be any sin in sincere?  
__Aren't we sincerely in love?  
__Oh, we're in love!"_

Tim laughed. "We did _The Music Man_ one year. They were those guys."

"The Buffalo Bills."

"I loved them in the movie."

"They played the quartet in the stage version, too. They even won quite a few awards in spite of having problems with losing a member for a while. They went on tours to Europe. They were really famous."

Tim looked away from the window. "You seem to know a lot about them."

Jimmy smiled. "I like this stuff."

"Irish riverdancing, barbershop quartet...what else do you do, Jimmy?" Tim asked.

"Not much, really." He shrugged. "I just like doing things. Sometimes they're weird...but I like them anyway."

The Buffalo Bills continued to sing in the background ("Alexander's Ragtime Band" followed by the "Swanee River Medley") as Tim began talking more. He didn't seem interested in talking about himself, but he was showing a sudden interest in Jimmy's interests. Jimmy couldn't help wondering why, but he didn't have the nerve to ask. ("What Kind of Fool Am I?") Interested, Tim might be, but he still had an odd edge to all his questions as if he was searching for something in _Jimmy's_ life that was important to him. ("Wherever We Go") By the time they reached Silver Spring, the barbershop quartet show was over (with a final tribute to the Buffalo Bills "Climb Every Mountain"), and Jimmy had not had a single chance to ask any important questions. As they drew near to Tim's place, Jimmy screwed up his courage and asked.

"Why did you leave the hospital, Tim?" he asked. "I don't understand."

Tim looked out the window again. He shrugged. "Sometimes things don't make sense...but that doesn't mean they're not right." His apartment building loomed. "Thanks for the ride, Jimmy. I really appreciate it."

The car pulled to a stop. Tim got out without another word and walked slowly into his apartment. Jimmy watched him go and then looked at his watch. His eyes widened. He had promised Ducky he'd be at work today to make up for the day off he'd taken on Wednesday. He put the car in gear and drove off quickly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Mr. Palmer, you were almost late."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said, rushing in. "I..."

"What is it, Mr. Palmer?"

Jimmy hesitated.

"Have you been doing something illegal, Mr. Palmer?"

"No!"

"Then, why do you look like the cat who ate the canary?"

"I'm just...not sure if I should..."

"You can be sure of my discretion."

Jimmy grinned. "I gave McGee a ride this morning. That's why I was nearly late."

"You gave Timothy a ride? Where?"

"To his apartment. He insisted on checking out of the hospital AMA."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't let me ask him."

"Wouldn't _let_ you?"

"He kept asking me questions about other things."

"Strange."

"Yeah."

"Well, I will not tell Gibbs and his team if that's what is worrying you."

Jimmy nodded with a sigh of relief. "I don't want McGee mad at me, too."

Ducky chuckled. "I don't blame you in the slightest. Now, why don't you get yourself situated. I shall be back momentarily."

Jimmy nodded and went off to deposit his things and change into his scrubs.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Dr. Mallard, this is a surprise. What brings you up here?" Vance asked.

"I have a question for you, Director Vance."

"What would that be?"

"What is Timothy McGee's current status here?"

"He's on sick leave. Why?"

"Does he know this?"

"I doubt it."

"When will he find out?"

"When he asks. Why?"

"He's come back to DC. I'm just worried about him."

Vance leaned back. "Yes, the outpouring of concern for Agent McGee is quite impressive considering the _lack_ of it before all this began."

"Too true, Director."

"I'm keeping my eye on him, Ducky. With so many worrying for his welfare, I don't think he stands a chance. Was there anything else?"

"No, that's all."

Vance bent back over his files until Ducky walked out. He couldn't repress a smile. This place was worse than a family confined to close quarters...and that was why he was keeping an eye out. He suspected that Tim would come back...if for no other reason than to quit officially. He would want to make sure everything was done correctly. Vance just had to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was exhausted by the drive, but strangely, he felt better, too, having _done_ something. He called his family, dealt with his mother's irate demands for an explanation of why he had left so precipitously, talked with Sam (but not Sarah) and then went to bed. Tomorrow was soon enough to do what he had to do.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

_Sunday..._

It was Sunday. Unless there was a case going on, the team wouldn't be there. Tim didn't want to see them. That wasn't why he was getting up early, why he was getting dressed, calling for a taxi and heading to NCIS. He had called in advance. He knew he was a visitor now. He had quit. He had to make sure they knew he was coming and get a visitor's pass. It was strange to think of NCIS being a place he would be going only as a visitor...like a tourist. He pushed the thought away and left his apartment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Just show me your ID, Agent McGee. You know how it works."

"I have my ID right here," Tim said, "but I'm a visitor now...so I'd better have a visitor's pass."

The guard, Henry, looked at him oddly. "Since when?"

Tim flushed. "...since...about a week ago."

"Really."

"Yeah. Just give me a visitor's pass. I won't be up there long. You can even escort me if..."

"That won't be necessary."

That voice caused Tim to look beyond Henry and meet the gaze of Director Leon Vance. He swallowed nervously.

"There's been some miscommunication, Henry. You can go about your busy newspaper-reading," Vance said with a smile. Sundays weren't generally busy on the Yard. Henry returned the smile and shook his head at fickle youngsters.

"Sounds good to me, Director."

"Come with me, Agent McGee."

Tim followed, but he couldn't help correcting him. "I'm not an agent anymore, Director. I...I quit."

"I'm well aware of that, but in the eyes of everyone who matters...by that I mean everyone in the Human Resources department, you are currently on sick leave."

Tim looked at him in confusion as they rode up in the elevator. He felt a twinge in his abdomen. He'd taken the medication prescribed for him, but he wasn't sure it was working, not if he was supposed to be painless.

"I didn't fill out a form," he said lamely. "That's required...and...and it requires my signature."

"I know."

"Who filed it? I know I didn't."

"Take one guess, Agent McGee."

Tim stopped in surprise and was nearly left on the elevator as the doors began to close. At the last minute, his mind kicked into gear again and he stepped out, vaguely surprised as well to see that they'd stopped at the bullpen level. He'd unconsciously expected to be taken to Vance's office. He was hoping that Vance wouldn't be standing over him. What he was going to be doing was...well, it wasn't illegal. He could do this using a Google search, but this way would be faster...and he could be sure of its accuracy. Whereas...

"You should probably sit down. I'm sure you're not fully recovered from your accident." Vance directed Tim to sit down at his desk. Tim did so, feeling odd about it. NCIS seemed almost like another world...and yet, it was so wonderfully familiar at the same time.

"Gibbs filed the form?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To give you a chance to change your mind."

Tim tried to feel angry, but all he felt was tired. It was so hard to be so angry for so long.

"Agent McGee?"

Tim looked up. He wasn't even aware of it, but he had started opening his drawers, going through his usual ritual. He stopped his hands as soon as he noticed.

"Yes, sir?"

"What brings you here this morning?"

"I..." Tim wasn't sure he should tell Vance, but after all, what would he do? Fire him? "I wanted to use the computer once more."

"Why?"

"Some...unfinished business."

"Agent McGee."

"Yes?" Tim didn't want to actually look at Vance, but the silence dragged after that address and eventually dragged his eyes upward. Vance was looking at him with entirely too much sympathy.

"Are you sure you _want_ this to be the last time you use this computer?"

Tim opened his mouth to say yes, but the word wouldn't come out. ...the _lie_ wouldn't come out. ...but he couldn't bring himself to say no either. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the desk and tried not to show how close the tears were to the surface.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"I thought not. You don't seem to understand it yourself yet. ...but know that if you need to talk it out with someone who is mostly divorced from all the proceedings, you can talk to me." Vance stood up. "You are still employed by NCIS, Agent McGee. If you wish to terminate your employment, you may do so. If you would like to request a transfer elsewhere, you can schedule an appointment with me to go over your options. ...however, until you do those things, you are an NCIS special agent on sick leave. ...that means, you don't need a visitor's pass to come in here."

Tim didn't move until Vance was gone, but he was shocked by the words he'd spoken. He wasn't sure he could actually envision himself telling Vance anything...but...but there were those times when he'd spoken to him before, during his banishment to Cybercrimes. No, not banishment. Vance had a reason for that. ...it was... Tim looked at his computer. Even if NCIS itself felt strange, the computer was still his.

_Every geek needs his computer._

Tim began a search. It took ten minutes at the most before he got the information he was looking for. Once he had it in hand, he stood and walked away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Later that day, Tim sat staring at his telephone. It was a good thing he'd kept the landline since he had to wait a couple of days for a replacement for his cell. He wasn't sure how long he'd wait before he would make the call. He needed to. He wasn't sure why, but he knew somehow that this was vitally important, just like talking to Jimmy had been vitally important. Again, he couldn't have said why...but it was.

It wasn't until nearly seven that evening that he got up the courage to dial the phone number he'd tracked down. He took a deep breath and called.

"_Hello, Burton residence."_

"Hi...may I speak to Dan Burton, please?"

"_Who may I say is calling?"_

"A...an old acquaintance."

There was confusion in the woman's tone. _"All right. Just wait a moment."_

Tim waited and heard some murmuring over the phone line. Some queries and then the male voice came on.

"_This is Dan. Who is this?"_

"You sound almost the same," Tim said, with a measure of surprise. The only thing missing from the last time he'd heard Dan's voice was the antagonism.

"_Who is this?"_

"It's Tim."

"_Should I know that name?"_ He sounded genuinely confused.

"Maybe it would help if you pictured me on the ground, covered with paint, begging for you to stop. Or maybe if I had told you I was the geek." Tim paused for a moment. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you forgot my name. You didn't remember it all through high school." Tim was surprised that he wasn't shouting. He certainly _felt_ like shouting.

"_Tim McGee. I have seen you in years...not since high school."_

"You probably never gave me another thought after graduation."

"_No, I did. I felt bad about that, Tim. I really did."_

"Not bad enough _not_ to do it."

"_Is that why you called? To get some sort of...revenge?"_

"No. I called to ask you a question."

"_It's been fifteen years, Tim. Why now?"_

"Because _you_ might have forgotten about it, but I never have. It's easier for the perpetrators to forget than it is for their victims."

"_Perpetrators?"_

"I'm in law enforcement." _Why am I giving him an explanation?_

"_Oh. What's the question?"_

"Why?"

"_Why what?"_

"Why did you suddenly start hating me? Why did you decide to make my life miserable? And _why_ did you do that to me, why did you pretend to be my friend again, only to torment me...again?"

Dan was silent. Tim heard a soft female voice ask if this was going to take a while. Dan whispered back that it could.

"_It's been fifteen years, Tim. I barely remember all that. It was high school."_

"Lucky you."

"_We were friends before high school."_

"Yes. I know...but somehow, I don't remember the friendship as much as the bullying that came after."

In the ensuing silence, Tim pictured Dan leaning back in a chair, his face pulled into that perplexed stare he'd occasionally given Tim back when they had still been friends.

"_I'm not going to say there was a good reason for it,"_ Dan said, finally. _"There wasn't. They didn't threaten me or anything like that. I know I was jealous of you."_

"Jealous? Of what?"

"_I got held back a year. You got pushed up two. Suddenly, we were in the same classes...and you were in higher classes than me. There were other kids who resented being in the lower tiers. Or they just figured you were trying to act like you were better and decided you needed a lesson. It was easy when there were so many of us."_ Dan sighed. _"You want a reason? That's all I can give you. We were childish and stupid."_

It was Tim's turn to be silent...thinking of how to put it. "No," he said. "No, you were cruel. That...that _party_ was not childish. It wasn't stupid. It was humiliating, degrading and intentionally cruel. You waited specifically until I was back on my feet to knock me down. You pretended to be my friend, Dan." Tim heard a plaintive note in his voice and wondered if Dan had caught it as well.

"_I know, and thinking back now, I remember that I almost didn't have the guts to do it. You came walking up the street in clothes I could tell were new. You were smiling. You looked almost happy."_

"But that didn't stop you. You still did it. You didn't even just stand by and watch. You participated."

"_What do you want me to say, Tim?"_ Dan asked. _"That I shouldn't have done it? Of course, I shouldn't have. If I had know about your dad, I–"_

"No, please, spare me that. Do you honestly think that having my dad almost commit suicide made what you did worse, that if my dad had been fine it would have been less traumatic for me? That it might have been just a big old joke that we could laugh about now?" He waited but Dan said nothing. "Let me disabuse you of that idea. Yes, having my dad in the hospital was bad, but do you know know what was so horrible about that night, what I still remember?"

"_No."_

"It was that I was so happy to have you as a friend again. I didn't have very many. As the designated punching bag, people didn't like associating with me for fear it would spill over onto them. ...but suddenly, I thought I was going to have my best friend back. ..but I didn't. Worse, you proved how much of a friend you _weren't_ by leading me into that...and then taking the first shot, the one that hit me in the eye. I believed you and you stabbed me in the back."

"_Why _did_ you believe me?"_ Dan asked. _"I never thought it would work. You were too smart to fall for it."_

"I trusted you," Tim said, feeling an ache that had nothing to do with Dan and everything to do with his current life.

"_But why?"_ Dan persisted. _"I think I proved pretty often that I didn't care about you. Why did you think that I'd suddenly changed my mind?"_

"I...wanted it to be true. I never could figure out why you suddenly started hating me. I guess I always hoped that you would stop...and you did...I thought. I...I thought that my dad had betrayed me and this was a chance to have someone do the opposite...to get rid of that feeling."

They were both silent again. The realization of how that feeling had only been intensified rather than ameliorated left them without words.

"_Why now, Tim?"_ Dan asked after a minute.

"Why not?"

"_Well, no reason but what were you wanting from me? You must have had _some_ idea of what I'd say."_

"I wanted an explanation. That's all."

"_No apology?"_

"No. I couldn't accept it. I don't know when I might be able to...but not now."

"_Tim...did it really affect you that much? For this long?"_

"I thought I had forgotten about it as thoroughly as you did...but I hadn't. Yes, it _did_ affect me. It still does. If it hadn't been for my mom, I might not have even gone to graduation."

"_I might not have shaped up if it hadn't been for your mom. She and the sheriff scared the living daylights out of me."_ He laughed a little.

"Thanks for answering my questions, Dan," Tim said, feeling unexpectedly drained by the conversation and wanting nothing more than to hang up.

"_The fifteen-year reunion is coming up at the end of the summer. Are you planning on coming?"_

"No. There's no one I really want to see. I want high school to stay in the past. Bye, Dan."

"_Bye, Tim."_

They both hesitated again.

"_Tim?"_

"What?"

"_Even if you can't accept it, even if it's fifteen years too late...I am sorry."_

"Bye, Dan." Tim hung up and then stared at the phone. "What did I really expect to get out of that?" he asked aloud. He asked it...and then he knew. He knew why he had needed that and he knew what he needed now. He called for yet another taxi.

_I really need to get my car fixed._

He also needed to get some rest. He felt really tired, not just physically, but mentally as well. ...and yet, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep or even relax until this was taken care of. He felt a strange compulsion to get it done, like there was no time left to think, only to do, only to act.

That was why, half an hour later, Tim was paying the taxi driver and walking up the steps and then knocking on a door he would never have considered touching even that morning. He knocked. ...and then, knocked again, wondering what he'd do if no one was home.

"_Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."_

Tim felt himself begin to tense up at the voice and then, the door swung open quite quickly.

"McGee...what–?"

"Hi, Tony."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Um...what are you doing here, Pr-McGee?"

Tim stood in the doorway, just staring at Tony, wondering how he should be feeling right now. He wanted to be angry at the sight of him...but again, like he had when Vance had told him about what Gibbs did, he just felt tired.

"McGee?" Tony asked again.

"I need to ask you something, Tony."

"Do...you want to come in or is this going to be some sort of shouting session followed by you doing something drastic?" He stood slightly to the side and gestured.

Tim hesitated and then stepped inside. "No shouting."

"What's up, then? I have to say that I wouldn't have expected you to come here...unless it was to shoot me in the head and leave my moldering corpse to–"

"What do you think of first when you think of me, Tony?" Tim asked.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"I look at you and I think either movies or insults. What do you think of what you look at me?"

Tony's face showed that he was trying to decide whether to be insulted or complimented by Tim's assessment.

"I mean, I know that you're other things but that's what I think of very first. If someone said, 'tell me about Tony,' I'd probably say that you tease me incessantly and you're constantly quoting movies because you've seen every single movie ever made. What about me?"

"Uh..."

Tim sat down on a chair...or sank down onto it. He didn't look at Tony while he talked.

"I can guess," he said, nodding at the floor. "I can guess what you think because it's not hard to do. You think that I'm a geek. If you were asked to describe me in one word, I'll bet geek or nerd or some other form of that would come out first. ...and maybe nothing else. Am I right?"

"Um...yeah, probably. Geek's a pretty obvious choice." Tony sat down, but Tim didn't look at him. He nodded again.

"Yeah."

"What's going on, McGee?"

Tim felt so tired and he suddenly wanted to cry again. He took a deep breath, pushing the tears back.

"McGee?"

"Do you care, Tony?"

"About what?"

"About me. Do you care at all?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Of course," Tim echoed, almost in a whisper.

"McGee...I..."

"You don't have to pretend. I don't want you to pretend. Pretending only makes things worse. If you don't care, just say it." He looked up. "Please."

"McGee...I do care. I realize that this is a day late and a dollar short, but I do. I really do. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"People do all the time. All the _time_!" That last word was spat out and Tim dropped his eyes to the floor again.

"I'm not doing that, McGee. I promise."

"If you care...then, why?"

Tony didn't answer and Tim couldn't muster up the energy to say anything for a while. He stared at Tony's surprisingly clean floor.

"I didn't know, McGee."

"Didn't know what?"

"That...that it did anything but bother you sometimes. I'm just joking around."

"You know I don't like it. You must have noticed."

"I figured it was because I was right."

"Why would you want to make me feel bad about something...over and over? Why? You say you care, but does that only extend to when someone is hurt or missing or in danger...or if I've screwed up so badly that someone has died? Is that the only time you think that I have feelings...that I can be hurt by what you say? Bothered?"

"I...I guess I don't think that deep about it, McGee."

Tim nodded again.

"Right. That makes sense." He pushed himself up. "Thanks," he said and started to walk to the door.

"Hey, wait, McGee!"

"No, Tony. I understand. It's what I expected. I just wanted to hear it...to be sure."

"Hear what? What did I say?"

Tim turned back. "I'm just a geek, Tony. That's all you see. That's all anyone sees...and so you don't think anything of me beyond as an object of ridicule. I guess it's an occupational hazard. I just..." _...hoped I was wrong._

"No, McGee!" Tony looked alarmed...and completely out of his depth. "That's not what I was saying! I wasn't! I can't believe I'm about to say this but it wasn't a comment on you...it was a comment about _me_. I'm the problem."

"You don't treat Abby like you treat me. Maybe the only reason you don't treat Jimmy worse is because you don't see him as often...but Jimmy's lucky." Tim smiled. "I envy him. ...he's the right kind of geek. Why am I the lucky one?"

"Well...Abby brags about being able to murder people and get away with it. Ziva could kill me with one finger. Gibbs...is Gibbs."

"So...the only reason you're nice to people or show them respect is because they can kill you?"

"No...McGee...I..."

"Tony..." Tim couldn't help laughing, as miserable as he was. "...you really don't get it. You can't. I should have seen before. You just don't understand and..."

For the first time, Tony reached out. He grabbed Tim by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Then, _help_ me understand, McGee. If it's us you hate, you shouldn't be driven away by that. ...because I remember what Sarah said about when you quit before...when you quit for her. She said that you loved NCIS. You shouldn't feel like you have to stop doing something you love."

"I don't hate you, Tony. I wish I did. I don't hate any of you. ...but it's just like before...and it will be again. ...and I can't do it again. I can't face it. I can't go through it, not again."

"What? What do you mean?"

Tim felt his knees wobble. He'd been doing too much today and his body was tired anyway.

"This! I..." Tim pulled back and turned to the door but had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He swore softly as a tear escaped and he wiped it away. This was the last thing he needed.

"McGee, slow down! I don't get it! I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me! Please, tell me what you're talking about! ...and sit down. You don't look so good. Should you be out of the hospital yet?"

"No. I shouldn't. I left early."

"Then, sit down."

Tim wanted to leave, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't make it very far. So he allowed Tony to force him down again.

"McGee...I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed; so...tell me if I'm wrong, but you seem to be talking about more than just me being an insensitive jerk."

Tim didn't answer. He didn't want to tell Tony about being bullied. He really didn't want to talk about that...not with Tony.

"Um...should I keep talking or let you start?"

Tim stared at the floor again. There was an area rug, with squares. He began to stare at the square closest to him, estimating its length, width...area.

"Okay," Tony said, sounding awkward. "...my turn...um... I don't know what to say, McGee. I wish I could promise that I'll never act like this again. I wish I could say that I understand why you're so upset, why you're so angry at us all. ...I don't. I really don't. I understand that you're mad at me. I get that. I get that it's because I said a whole bunch of stupid and insensitive things at a time when you could really have used support instead. ...but I don't get why it's lasted so long. That's what I don't get."

"Because it hurt," Tim said softly.

"What?"

"It hurt. It hurts. I'm tired of getting hurt. I'm tired of being just a geek. I know you won't really change, Tony. Oh, you might...for a while, but you couldn't completely. It wouldn't last."

Silence. It stretched out for a minute. Five minutes. Then, ten. Ten of the longest minutes ever known to man.

"...but Dad is right. ...and that's the problem. I have to go, Tony." He stood up again, pleased that he could do so without feeling his head spin.

"How did you get here?"

"Taxi."

"I'll give you a ride."

"No, Tony. You don't have to."

"I know. ...and no, this is not me trying to make up for last week. I highly doubt it's enough."

"No...because you don't even know what the problem is," Tim said. He tried to leave again, but Tony stopped him.

"Come on, McGee. Let me give you a ride...you can pretend it's like _Driving Miss Daisy_ or _Jeeves and Wooster_...or something. You don't have to talk to me at all."

Tim didn't feel like he could last against Tony's insistence and so he nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

The drive back was silent, awkward. Tim stared straight ahead and Tony didn't say anything. Not until they reached Tim's apartment.

"What's the problem, then, McGee? You said I don't understand. So...what is it?"

Tim's hand was on the handle. Tony would probably not understand why this was so hard for him to say, but he couldn't say anything else. He couldn't lie anymore. Lying took energy he didn't have. He sighed.

"I'm not mad, Tony."

"Could've fooled me."

Tim swallowed and nodded. He _had_ fooled them. All of them, including himself.

"I'm afraid." Then, he opened the car door, ignored Tony's protest for him to wait and walked into his building, wondering if Tony would follow him and glad that he didn't.

He reached his apartment and felt what little energy he'd had left drain out of him. He walked into his bedroom and lay down. He was asleep in moments, exhausted by what he'd done and said that day.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Tim didn't do much besides sleep for the next two days. NCIS people left him alone, although Jimmy called him once. He talked to his parents, although still not Sarah. Other than that, he felt like he was recovering from a marathon...or maybe just a bad car accident. There were conversations he knew he needed to have, but he couldn't face them, not yet. So he didn't. He put them off and began to plan on just how he was going to get to Ohio to see his dad when he still felt horrible, didn't have a car anyway, and didn't have anyone he dared ask for help. The closest airport to home was Port Columbus.

Tim knew that he'd have to make a decision...again. It was strange how easy it was to do that in the heat of the moment, but when the same decision had to be made again...later...it was nearly impossible. Admitting that he was afraid only made it more difficult...mainly because of what it was that frightened him. That was why he hadn't made one yet, why he was letting his life hang in a precarious limbo. That was also partly why he was looking up how much it cost to fly to Port Columbus and then take the shuttle. He'd done that a couple of times, but usually flying was too expensive. Now, however...

...he looked at the ticket price, the time and bought it before he could change his mind. Then, he went and packed a bag to take with him.

_Knowing my luck, the plane will crash,_ he thought to himself. _Third time's the charm._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You know, Dr. Chan, I'm beginning to think that you enjoy the power you have over the lives of your patients. You probably go back to your little office and plan out the different ways you can confine poor victims like myself to the hospital, leeching away their lives, their means...their happiness and joy."

Dr. Chan continued to jot down notes to himself without commenting.

"Do you realize that I've been here for two weeks?"

"Actually, yes, Sam, and I was just thinking how lovely that first week was," Dr. Chan shot back...again without looking up from his notes. "You were so quiet..."

Sam laughed.

"I'd take that as a threat, Dad."

Sam looked to the doorway and saw his son standing there, a smile on his face, but a tired expression in his eyes.

"Tim! What are you doing here?"

"Coming for a visit. I had the time."

"I'm all finished here, Sam. You know that if you let yourself heal, you'd get out of here that much faster. ...and wouldn't that be nice for both of us?" Dr. Chan finished up his notes and walked to the door. "It's nice to see you again, Tim. You look like you need more sleep."

"You're probably right, Dr. Chan. I'll try to do that," Tim said and watched the doctor leave.

"Tim, what brings you here?"

"I'm like Mom. Even if I know you're okay, I need to see it for myself. Otherwise, there's a part of me that just refuses to believe it."

"Well, I hope I look better than you do. Tim, sit down."

"I'm just tired, Dad. I'm all right." He walked into the room. "Where's Mom...and Sarah?"

"Taking a break. I don't need them with me every second of the day."

"They'd like that, though, wouldn't they."

"Come on, Tim. Sit down."

Tim walked over to the bed and made to sit down in the chair beside it but before he could, Sam snagged his arm and pulled him into a hug.

"Tim, you must be having a rotten week."

"This...this week hasn't been so bad. Mostly sitting around."

Sam released him. "You can sit down some more. How did you get here? Rent a car?"

"No, I flew. Took the shuttle from the airport."

"Did you tell anyone you were coming?"

Tim shook his head.

"How long will you keep this up, Tim?"

"Keep what up?"

"This pretense that you don't care about going back, that you don't _want_ to. How long can you keep it up?"

"I can't. Not at all."

"Then, why are you trying?"

Tim met Sam's gaze, smiled hopelessly and shrugged one shoulder.

"This is really not the kind of thing in which you should try emulating me, Tim."

"I don't know what else to do, Dad," Tim said.

"You go back."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"You went back once."

"Yeah."

"Why not now?"

"There's more riding on it. That was just for a speech."

Sam laughed. "That's exactly _why_ you should go back. You have to fight harder for the things that are the most important!"

"I...I can't, Dad."

"Are you going to try and tell me that you don't _want_ to? Are you going to tell me that you can think of another place where you can be as happy as you have been at NCIS? Can you say, with any degree of honesty, that part of you doesn't wish you hadn't quit at all?"

"No." Finally, Tim dropped his head. "No, Dad."

"You have to face it, Tim...just like Baldwin said. You can't change it if you don't face it. ...or is that the problem? You're afraid you _can't_ change it?"

"I know I can't."

"What is it that you want to change?"

"I don't know." Tim paused. "We don't have to talk about me, Dad. You're the one still in the hospital."

"Yes, well, the jury's still out on whether or not _you_ should be out." Sam rolled his eyes. "And I'm still trying to convince everyone that I should be let out."

"You know that you shouldn't be yet. If you thought otherwise, you'd have left."

"Yeah, you're right. ...don't tell anyone, though."

Tim smiled...at the floor.

"Okay, we've talked about me. Now, you're the one with the real problem."

"It's nothing you can solve, Dad. It's nothing _I_ can solve. I don't think it _has_ a solution."

"Oh, it does. You just don't want to admit it."

"What is it, then?"

"You need to admit that they made terrible decisions in these last couple of weeks...and you need to forgive them for that. You need to swallow your pride."

"I don't feel very proud, Dad."

"That's because you've forgotten what you yourself told me."

"What's that?"

"Voltaire, Tim. What did he say?"

"Of all the things you would have heard..."

"What did he say?"

"'We are rarely proud when we are alone.'"

"And?"

"There's a reason why Voltaire's famous."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know."

"You don't seem angry anymore."

"I'm not."

Sam nodded. "So...what's left?"

Tim spread his hands...showing nothing. "Just this."

"You don't know what to do, but you know there's only one thing _to _do."

"What's that?"

Sam grinned. "You know."

"I can't do that now, Dad."

"Thoreau. 'Do not despair of your life. You have force enough to overcome your obstacles.'"

"Dad."

"Are you conceding already?"

Tim shook his head. "T. S. Eliot. 'Where does one go from a world of insanity? Somewhere on the other side of despair.'"

"George Eliot. 'What we call despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope.'"

"George Eliot. 'There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.'"

"No fair, choosing the same author."

"Are you conceding?"

"Not a chance. Jane Addams. 'Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we often might win, by fearing to attempt.'"

"George Bernard Shaw. 'My reputation grows with every failure.'"

"Where in the world did you find _that _one?"

"Online. I can't keep up reading all the books that you do."

Sam smiled.

"Are you conceding?"

"To Shaw? Absolutely not. Paulo Coelho. 'But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for.'"

Tim fell silent, and Sam could see him trying to think of something. ...and he saw the moment when Tim thought of a quotation...and he could see that this was going to be the end of the round because he could see by the expression on Tim's face that this would not be supporting his standpoint...which was the point of starting the game anyway.

"Winston Churchill. 'The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.'"

"'I myself am an optimist. There does not seem much point in being anything else.' I concede."

"I think I already did."

"You win so rarely, Tim. I'll let you have this one."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Thanks, Dad."

"Tim, you don't have to rush...but you really do need to do _something_."

"I know. Just not yet."

"I'm all right with that. You can wait on me hand and foot."

Tim smiled and nodded. He sat with Sam, talking for a while...until Sarah and Naomi got back.

"Tim!" Naomi gasped; then, she laughed. "You just can't stay put, can you."

Tim shook his head. "I'm on walkabout." He looked past Naomi to where Sarah was hovering awkwardly behind her. "Hey, Sarah."

"Hey, Tim. You look okay."

"Thanks." He looked at Sam. "I think I need to take a walk, stretch my legs after the plane and the shuttle."

"Don't stretch them too much."

"I won't. Sarah?" He jerked his head. She hesitated and then nodded.

They walked out together.

"What happened, Sam?" Naomi asked.

"Tim's hit an impasse and is trying figure out a way around it...now that he's figured out he has to, that he can't go backward."

"Is he going to make it?"

"I hope so. He doesn't know himself yet."

"I'm glad he's made Sarah talk to him."

"If it works out. We have two stubborn kids."

"Yeah, I wonder where they got it from."

They both pointed fingers at each other.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim didn't speak at first. He and Sarah walked out of the hospital together, but the strain was obvious. There was a school nearby and they walked to a bench where Tim sat down with relief. He wouldn't be fully recovered for a few more weeks...even if he had been on schedule. They sat together, but didn't look at each other.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm glad the rain stopped."

"Me, too. I think I'll be happy if it never rains again."

"Yeah."

"It's okay, Sarah."

"No, it's not, Tim."

"Yeah, it is."

"No, it's not! I can't believe I said that to you."

"I can."

Sarah turned to him, angry. "Why?"

Tim looked at her sympathetically. "Because you did. Because that's what you do, Sarah."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Because I know why you said it."

"It didn't bother you?" She looked hopeful.

"Yes, it did bother me. It hurt, Sarah. That's why you said it."

Sarah looked away.

"It was, wasn't it?"

She nodded.

"I won't say that I think it was a good idea, that it's okay that you did it, but I know why you did."

"Why aren't you mad? You were mad at everyone else."

"I can't be angry anymore. It's too hard."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yeah. You're my sister, Sarah."

"And I'm doing a real good job of showing it, aren't I."

"Yep." Tim put an arm around her shoulders. "Sarah...what you said really hurt, but it didn't cause my car accident. I don't hate you."

Sarah leaned against him. "I'm sorry, Tim. I always seem to speak first and think later...when it comes to you. Maybe you shouldn't forgive me so easily."

"I don't forgive easily, Sarah. Be glad that I'm ready to now."

Her arms went around him, gently when he winced, and she scooted closer.

"I love you, Tim. It's not your fault that Dad's paralyzed. It's not your fault that he has problems."

"Thanks, Sarah. I needed to hear that."

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"I forgive you."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Tim stuck around for a few days, slept in his old bedroom (which felt weird), spent the days talking to his family and generally thought little about going back to DC. He embraced the limbo for a while. The ticket he'd bought was a round trip but that didn't mean he _had_ to use it. Physically, he was feeling a lot better, although still not up to form. He was waiting, but he wasn't quite sure what he was waiting for.

Finally, on Saturday morning, the day of his return ticket, he found out what it was.

"So, are you leaving today?" Sam asked. They were all talking about the same inconsequential things that had occupied their conversations over the last three days.

Tim looked at Sarah and Naomi before meeting Sam's inquiring gaze.

"Yes. No...maybe." He smiled sheepishly. He hadn't told them that he technically still had a job.

"You don't have much time to make a decision, do you?" Naomi asked.

"A few hours. The flight leaves in the evening. When are you getting released, Dad?"

"Probably next week."

"I could stay a few more days," Tim said, softly.

Sam exchanged a glance with Naomi. She stood.

"Sarah, I think you and I should have some girl time."

Sarah nodded and stood up as well. "Sure. Okay."

"That's real subtle, Mom," Tim said, rolling his eyes.

Naomi leaned over him and kissed the top of his head. "We don't have time to be subtle."

She and Sarah withdrew quietly, and Tim found himself alone with Sam for the first time since he'd come home.

"It's not going to change, Tim. No matter how long you stay."

"What's not?"

Sam gestured at himself, at the wheelchair sitting in the corner, at the trappings of the hospital room.

"This. No matter what, barring some amazing medical breakthrough, this is my life. You know it and sometimes you even seem to accept it...but not most of the time...and you _need_ to. I can't decide if you're tempted to stay because you're afraid to go back and face your life or because you feel a need to punish yourself by staying here and staring at me."

"I just want to be sure you're okay."

"Right. And I'm Superman."

"I do, Dad."

"But you won't believe me when I say that I am."

"You're still in here."

"Yes, I am. But I'm fine. This is merely a precaution now. You know it. Tim...face facts: my health _is_ declining. Eventually, I _will_ die, but that's years away...and you need to come to terms with that before it happens. You need to stop blaming yourself because it is affecting everything you do, everything in your life."

Tim shook his head. "No, it's not. That's not true."

"Would you have reacted as strongly to your coworkers' comments if the medical emergency had happened to your mother, God forbid, instead of me? Would you have been driven to quit your job, to yell, to run away if it hadn't been me in the hospital, if it hadn't been due to a complication of my paralysis?" Tim didn't answer; so Sam continued. "Now, I don't doubt that you would still have been angry, upset and worried, maybe even pushed to the breaking point, but if the guilt hadn't been there..."

Tim stood up and walked to the window.

"How many times are we going to go over the same ground, Tim?"

Tim's shoulders moved up and then down.

"Tim, turn around. You can't hide from me any more than you can hide from your life."

"I don't know what to say, Dad."

"Turn around."

For a few seconds, Tim didn't move; then, he shifted around. His eyes were dry.

"It can't be just this."

"It isn't. I'm not trying to say it is. I just want you to acknowledge that it's part of it."

Tim walked back to the chair. He sat down. "Dad...I..."

"Tim..." Sam smiled. "...if you apologize again, I'm going to take a leaf out of Agent Gibbs' book and smack you upside the head."

Tim laughed...but the laugh faded.

"I didn't know, Dad."

"What didn't you know?"

"I didn't know I was...going to feel that way. I thought I _had_ accepted it. I really did. ...but when Sarah said...and...as I was driving...and then, when I woke up in the car...still alive. Alone. I kept...forgetting that you weren't there. I kept trying to get away, to move that stupid steering wheel. I couldn't move it. I couldn't do anything. I was as helpless as the geek everyone thinks I am."

"Have you ever told anyone at NCIS about that, Tim?"

"What?"

"Being bullied? About how you felt in the car?"

"I haven't really had that kind of conversation with any of them, Dad."

"Maybe you should try."

"I don't want to tell them about all that."

"You don't have to tell them everything, but how can they understand if they don't know where you're coming from?"

"Do you really think they can, even if they knew?"

"You _don't _think they can?"

"No, I don't. They...they don't have the experience to understand it."

"That's what empathy is for, Tim. It's doesn't require a one-to-one experience in order to understand, at least to some degree."

Tim leaned forward against the railing of the bed, pillowing his head on his arms.

"I'm afraid, Dad."

"Afraid of what?"

"You're right."

"As much as I love hearing either of my children admit that, I would like you to elaborate."

"I don't..." Tim sighed. "I'm afraid if I go back...that I'll find out I was right."

"Right about what?"

"They really don't care...and they're glad to be rid of me...finally. I'm afraid of feeling the same things again, of them saying the same things, of..." Tim lifted his head. "It doesn't matter how well I know it in my head...I'm afraid you're going to die...because of that accident. It's more likely than not."

"Tim, you know _way_ too much about spinal cord injuries."

Tim laughed but his head dropped back to the railing. "I know."

"Okay. Okay, Tim." Sam sighed. "Sit up. Perfect posture."

Tim sat up straight, shoulders back.

"Good. Now, I want you to listen to me and listen good. You listening?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"Good. It's true. More than likely, I have about fifteen years left, if I fit into the averages. More than likely, it will be a complication of being paralyzed. That's all true and I'll bet you know the facts and figures better than I do. ...but Tim...none of that makes it your fault. _You_ are responsible for keeping me alive and I will..." Sam had to stop for a moment. He let out a smile as his mouth twisted. "...I will _always_ be in your debt for not letting me go through with that. Always. There is not a day that goes by that I am not grateful you chose that moment to walk in the door, to see what I almost did...even though I regret more than I can say that you had to face it."

"I was so mad at you."

"As you should have been...and then you hid from that anger by feeling guilt instead. You probably felt guilty for being angry."

"I...I knew what you were going to do."

"What?"

Tim looked at his hands, noticing the stitches from where he'd sliced his knuckles. They were starting to itch.

"I knew. That's why I came home. You wrote your suicide note...and I found it. I...I didn't really think you'd do it and I was so...mad that you were going to...and I was so afraid that I'd miss it. I had this nightmare of me finding your body, of having to tell Mom what you had done, that I had known and not stopped you."

"Oh, Tim. It wouldn't have been your fault."

"Oh, I know...in my head."

"You know too much in your head and not enough in your heart. Can you believe me when I say that I don't blame you in the slightest?"

"Yes."

"Can you stop blaming yourself?"

"Sometimes." Tim looked up and smiled.

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled back. "Now, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Tim's energy ebbed out of him and he slumped.

"Do I have to tell you what you already know or will you just say it yourself?"

"What if it doesn't work?"

"Then, at least you tried. After all, Francis Bacon said, 'There is no comparison between that which is lost by not succeeding and that lost by not trying.'"

"But you've still lost."

"At least you know you it couldn't happen. If you don't try, Tim, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had gone back."

"What will I _say_?"

"What you want them to hear. ...and if you say it right, you won't have to scream. They'll hear you even if you whisper."

"I..."

"Tim, put everything else to the side for a moment. Do you _want_ to go back?"

Tim's eyes fastened on Sam and he sat motionless.

"Do you want to go back to NCIS?"

Slowly...ever so slowly, Tim nodded.

"Then, you have to go. Don't let even fear stop you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They made it to the airport and Tim almost couldn't go. He couldn't stand there and say good-bye, even though he wasn't going far, even though he hadn't lived with his parents for more than a decade. Sarah flung her arms around him and he had to stop her from hurting him.

"You're the best, Tim," she said. "I was wrong. You're totally manly."

Tim laughed. "What?"

"I was wrong. You're a manly man." She laughed.

"Thanks, Sarah," Tim said smiling. "When are you heading back?"

"I'll probably stick around for a couple more weeks. Summer courses don't start yet."

"I'll see you whenever."

"Love you."

"You'd think I was going off into exile instead of only an hour or two away by plane."

Naomi hugged him tightly. "You know you're doing more than flying. Let me know how it goes."

"You may not want to know."

"I'm your mother. I'll want to know no matter what." Naomi let him go. "Catch your plane."

"Yes, ma'am." Tim nodded and walked to the security checkpoint.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When he got back to DC, he didn't call anyone...well, almost.

"Hello, Director Vance...I'm sorry to bother you on the weekend. I wanted to speak to you. ...I can wait until Monday. Will you have a few minutes?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_Monday..._

Tim took a deep breath and stepped off the elevator...then, he let it out with a sigh of relief when the bullpen below him was empty. There was no guarantee that he'd beat them here, not if there was a case going or if Gibbs just decided to...

The elevator doors dinged and Tim was treated to an interesting sight. Gibbs walked over to his desk, sat down and then looked over at Tim's desk just for a moment. He pulled out a badge, fingered it and then put it out of sight. Tim crept along the balcony, knowing that the only reason Gibbs hadn't seen him yet was because he'd remained motionless and because Gibbs hadn't thought to look up.

Tim only breathed easily once he made it into the outer office...and got a strange look from Vance's assistant.

"Is Director Vance in?" Tim asked, trying to be nonchalant, when he felt anything but.

"Yes, he's expecting you, Agent McGee. You can go on in."

"Thank you." Tim walked to the door, took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Agent McGee, have a seat."

"Thank you, sir." Tim sat and felt all the nerves he'd managed to avoid...or to be completely honest, all the fear he'd managed to suppress.

"Now, what can I do for you?"

"I...I'd like to try working...here...again."

"Are you sure, Agent McGee?"

"Sure that I want to try...but..." Tim looked down. "...but I don't know...it might not work out. I've...said things that might make it impossible. ...and I don't want my personal problems to keep NCIS from fulfilling its mission in any way. ...but I'd like to try."

"You want to go back to Gibbs' team?"

"Yes, sir."

"After all that happened?"

"If they'll have me, sir."

"You think they won't?"

"I don't know, Director." Tim thought of his Dad correcting his posture. He sat up. "They may not want to work with me. It might be too hard, too awkward, for them...or for me. In either case, it could adversely affect the way we do our jobs and if that happens, I shouldn't be here at all."

Vance's expression was carefully arranged to be merely curious.

"It's the easiest course of action from a bureaucratic standpoint, but, Agent McGee, I'd like to know why you want to come back here when only two weeks ago you were saying you never wanted to see any of them again."

"Because I...love working here."

"Even with these people you felt cared so little for you?"

"That's why I said I'm going to try. I don't know what they'll say, what they'll do. My reaction was as much because of me as because of what they did and said." Tim sighed. "It was, as my dad would say, a concatenation of circumstances."

"How is your father?"

"Doing much better. He should be released soon."

"Agent McGee, I have few qualms about restoring you to your position on Gibbs' team, but that requires some assurances on your part. As you yourself admitted, this could be too awkward a situation and while I value your skills, I have to think about NCIS as a whole, not just about one team, no matter how good they are. I understand that the circumstances surrounding this event were extreme, but no matter how valid your reasons, I have to know that this kind of chaos isn't going to happen again. Your explosion, departure and subsequent accident, which I know was not your fault, severely hampered the ability of my MCRT to respond. I can't run the risk of that happening, perhaps while a case is going on. Do you understand my worry?"

"Yes, Director, I do. I'm not actually ready to come back full time yet. My doctor has already lectured me on trying to do too much too soon. What I wanted was...to...to _talk_ to them, to ask them if they wanted me back, to see if it's possible. If they say no, that makes it easy. You can...let me quit or transfer me or whatever."

"Can you trust them?"

"With my life," Tim answered instantly. "I've never doubted that."

"Just not your...for lack of a better term, your _heart_?"

Tim flushed.

"Yeah, I know. It sounds like a soap opera."

Tim smiled. "Yes, Director. ...trust takes time, but I'd like to see if it's possible."

"And how long do you think you'll give it a try?"

"I don't know. Do you need a date?"

"No, Agent McGee," Vance said with a sympathetic smile. "As long as NCIS is operating smoothly, I _don't_ need a date. I just need your assurance."

"Some of the things that...that led to me...freaking out...they happened a long time ago and I just never really dealt with them. I'm working on it."

"This scares you, doesn't it. Trying to come back like this."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I know to look for it."

"For what?"

"You've never seen you psych profile, have you?"

"Only...a small part...once...a couple years ago."

"Well, let's just say that I can adequately imagine the kind of thing that might have made this most recent event unbearable."

Tim opened his mouth to explain.

"No, Agent McGee, I won't ask you to tell me. I do think you should mention it to Gibbs at least. It might help him better interact with you as your supervisor. They have no case running at the moment, although, as you well know, there's no guarantee that situation will last. You can use a conference room to keep this slightly more private than the last time you were with them all."

Tim flushed again.

"I'll send them in to you when they all arrive."

"Thank you, sir. I really..."

"Don't thank me. It's in my best interest to have you around and to have my teams working together well. You generally have. I'd like to that to be the case again."

"So would I."

"Well, then, we'll see if that can happen."

"Thank you, sir."

"Conference room three."

"Yes, Director." Tim stood and walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, Ziva." Tony said, catching up with her as they headed inside.

"McGee is back," she said without preamble.

"Really? Did you talk to him?"

"No, I just saw that there was a light on in his apartment. I did not think another invasion of his privacy would be welcome."

"You think he went home?"

"Yes. Where else would he go?"

"How about here?" Henry suggested as he checked their IDs.

"What?"

"Agent McGee came in this morning. Real early. Even beat Agent Gibbs."

"Really?"

"No, I'm joking, Agent DiNozzo...yes, really."

"You think he's packing his stuff?" Tony asked Ziva.

Henry was rather enjoying his position of greater knowledge. "Hasn't come out yet and wasn't packing a box inside."

"Thank you, Henry," Ziva said and walked to the elevator.

They rode up together, both expecting to see Tim at his desk...and they were disappointed when he wasn't there. Only Gibbs was there, sitting at his desk, working.

"Morning, Boss!" Tony said, slinging his bag down and settling in his chair.

"Don't get comfortable."

"New case?"

"Nope. Meeting."

Ziva looked confused. "A meeting? For what?"

"Vance set it up," Gibbs said. "Whenever you two deigned to show up. Conference room 3." He stood and started to walk to the stairs, paused and turned around. They were both staring at him. "Are you waiting for invitations? Let's go!"

Ziva and Tony dropped their stuff and ran.

"On your six, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat anxiously on a chair. He'd paced a little but he knew the time that Tony and Ziva generally arrived and he was waiting now for the three of them to step in the door. He didn't know what he was going to say...not exactly. He knew that there were things that _needed_ to be said, but even though he'd tried to imagine how this conversation might go, he really had no idea.

The door opened, Gibbs in the lead, of course, Tony and Ziva behind asking what was going on.

"I mean, a meeting in the conference room, first thing in the morning? Why? What's the point when we just– Probie!"

"Hi, guys," Tim said. He nearly stood up, but wasn't sure his legs would hold him.

"What's going on? I thought we were meeting with Vance."

"No, it's with me. I asked for it."

"What for?" Ziva asked.

"I...I need to...to talk to you all."

Gibbs sat down without speaking. Ziva closed the door and then sat down as well. Tony followed suit.

"About what?"

"There are..." Tim trailed off awkwardly. _Say what you need to say, Tim._ "...there are some things I need to say to you and...they're going to be hard enough. I'd like to ask you to wait and let me finish."

"About what?"

"About...why I did what I did."

"Don't we know this already?" Tony asked.

"No, you don't, Tony. You don't know all of it. I didn't want to tell you...it's not something I like to think about and it's not...something I like people knowing about me. But my dad clued me in to a few things in the last week."

"How is your father?" Ziva asked.

"He's fine."

"Is this about him?"

"No...well...yes, but not exactly in the way you mean."

"Do we _need_ to know this, McGee?" Gibbs asked. It was a genuine question.

"Yeah, Boss, you do. You need to understand what was going on because you don't, not really. It's important that you understand so that you can answer the question I have."

"Go ahead. Talk."

Tim smiled wanly. "Okay. First of all...I'm..." This was probably the hardest thing for him to say. "...I'm _sorry_ for the way I exploded. It wasn't all because of you."

Tony opened his mouth to protest.

Tim's smile widened for a moment. "Oh, don't worry, Tony. I'm still blaming you for a lot of it. I'm not big enough to take it all on myself." Tony subsided, looking sheepish. "But it wasn't all you. Some of it is from...things that happened a long time ago."

"Like what?"

Tim looked down at his hand, at the stitches again. They'd be coming out soon. It was a good thing, too, because they itched like crazy. His fingers were tracing the grain of the wood.

"I'm sure you all know already that I had some problems with bullying in high school. Even if you didn't know it specifically, it's pretty obvious, right?" Tim heard the bitterness and cleared his throat, not daring to look at his teammates. "It was all through high school. The worst of them was a guy who used to be my best friend. He felt he had to prove that we weren't friends by being...really nasty to me. Most of the time, it wasn't much. It was constant but...not intense. They'd shove me around in the halls, steal my books, stuff like that. I hated it, but I was...used to it."

There was some uncomfortable shuffling and Tim almost looked up, but not quite. This was too hard to relate, even now.

"After my accident in high school, after I got off my crutches and my dad was home...I...I walked in on him when he was getting ready to commit suicide." Tim said the sentence in a rush. There were no gasps in the following silence, just a complete stillness. "He was...committed, put on suicide watch and all that. I was...I was really mad at him. I felt like he'd betrayed me because he'd said he was fine and all the while he was getting ready to kill himself." Tim paused again. This time there was some stirring.

"I would never have guessed that..." Tony trailed off as Tim looked up at him and looked embarrassed for having interrupted. Tim gave a weak smile.

"You wouldn't now. We didn't tell many people about it, only a couple of close friends and some relatives. ...and...well...um...Dan, my former friend, called me after this happened and he...he invited me to a party. He said they were celebrating me walking on my own two legs again." Tim dropped his gaze back to the table, although he could see the length of it, see Ziva's hands clasped and resting on the edge, Tony's arm and elbow. "I believed him. I was so mad at my dad and I thought I could have my friend back again and it would be better. Something really stupid like that anyway. ...but he lied. It was...it wasn't a party. It was...um...a paintball fight and I was the only target."

Ziva's hands seemed to tighten. Her knuckles were white and Tony's arm and elbow disappeared from Tim's view.

"Dan took the first shot, hit me in the face. It was...bad. I swore I'd never go back to school, that I never wanted to see them again, that...that I wasn't even going to leave the house until it was time for me to finally leave and go to MIT. That's all I wanted. They hadn't cared about me at all. They just wanted to make my life miserable."

"Man, McGee. That's..."

"Yeah. ...and I should have realized that you're not really like that. They _wanted_ to hurt me. You don't...not most of the time." Tim sighed and lifted his head. "I hadn't realized that I was feeling the same way before. They...I didn't have a name to them. I was just a geek and that's what they called me. I'm still just a geek...and sometimes, I find that I'm really..._really_ bothered by it. Not always but sometimes." He cleared his throat. "...this...this doesn't excuse my behavior, but it might go some way toward explaining it, explaining why I was so determined _not_ to believe you. I didn't want to be taken in again."

"So...what's the question?" Tony asked after an uncomfortable silence.

"I...um...I want to come back to work here...with you."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Because...I...do like it." Tim found his eyes shifting away from the trio and he forced them back. "I'll admit that there are things I don't like...and I know that you won't really change. You shouldn't, not just because of me."

"You think it is worth it?" Ziva asked.

"I want to try, but it's not really up to me. It should be up to you. I'm the one with the problem. If you don't think it's possible, then I'll...do something else."

"You're making it _our_ decision?" Tony asked incredulously.

Tim nodded. "Boss?"

Gibbs was staring without speaking, as he had since he had told Tim to start talking.

"What, McGee?"

"Are you willing to take me back?"

Gibbs looked at him speculatively. "You're right, McGee, we're not going to change a whole lot...but that doesn't mean that there aren't some things that _should_ change. Can you trust us enough to let us work on it? Can you trust us enough to _tell_ us when it's a problem?"

"I can try."

"Then, so can we."

"I'm not ready for anything beyond desk duty right now. It'll be a few weeks more." Tim was hesitant.

"Are you ready now?"

Tim nodded, feeling a strange sense of disbelief at the ease with which Gibbs had accepted it.

"Good. We could use your help."

Tim nodded again, but he wasn't quite sure his legs would hold him. Gibbs stood and headed for the door while Tony and Ziva lingered.

"You two have work to do, I'm assuming."

"Yeah, Boss." Tony nodded and walked out. Ziva gave Tim a glance over her shoulder but left as well. Gibbs stopped before leaving and turned back.

"I think this is yours, McGee," he said and slid Tim's badge across the table.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Tim said as he stared at it.

"It was a good shot."

"I never did hit any of them back."

"Maybe you should have."

Tim shook his head. "It wouldn't have helped."

"You're probably right. McGee, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tim asked, picking up the badge and holding it gently.

"For hanging up on Sarah and for treating you with contempt."

"Hey...what are friends for?" Tim asked, shrugging and trying to smile.

"Not for that," Gibbs said seriously. "Are you sure you want to come back here?"

"Yes."

"But you're not sure if you can?"

"Yes."

"We'll try, McGee. Can't promise any more than that."

"I know."

"Go talk to Abby before you start working."

Tim winced.

"She'll find out and freak out, McGee. You might as well forestall that."

Tim nodded and pushed himself to his feet, relieved that he made it...in more ways than one. Now, however, there was Abby...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stood outside the door to Abby's lab for a few minutes, thinking how much he was _not_ looking forward to seeing her. Jethro was still with Gibbs he assumed and he was extremely ambivalent about taking the dog back. There was too much baggage behind his relationship with Abby and at this moment, of all the people at NCIS, he was most worried about interacting with Abby the most. Still...she was part of his problem...or his problems involved her...or however you wanted to put it. He stepped in.

Music was playing loudly and Abby was hard at work. She hadn't looked back; so either the music was too loud or she was just expecting someone else.

"Hey, Abby."

Abby straightened from her hunched position, staring straight ahead before she carefully turned around, the expression on her face one of shock...and a bit of anxiety.

"Hi...Tim." She took one step and then stopped, probably more awkward than Tim himself was. The space between was a whole lot wider than the ten feet which physically separated them. "What are you doing here?"

"I...am...working."

"You quit."

"Apparently not."

"I heard you."

"I remember saying it."

"You threw your badge at Gibbs...and you hit him."

"I think that only impressed him."

"You yelled at everyone."

"Yes, I did."

"You yelled at _me_."

"Yes, I did."

They stared at each other. If it weren't for the ear-splitting music, the lab would have been silent.

"...and...I'm...sorry, Tim." She looked down.

"You didn't know it was my mom."

"I didn't even think enough to bother asking. I was thinking only about me." She looked up. "...like I always do."

"Abby..." Tim didn't get a chance to speak because Abby was off to the races.

"I mean, do you know what I was talking about when you got in your car accident? I was telling Gibbs that you couldn't possibly hate Jethro because he's a dog. I wasn't thinking about the fact that I'd been such a jerk, that I'd only been concerned about me, me, me, me. Even after we found out what happened and where you were, I was only worried about you being mad at me, not about why or what I'd done...because I don't like thinking about being the one at fault. I don't want to think about being wrong or being mean...because I'm not a mean person, Tim! I'm nice! I rescue animals and hug people! I'm not mean! ...but look! Even now, I'm talking about me and not about you and how mean I was to you. I was really mean, Tim. It was terrible of me to treat you like that and it was horrible of me to ignore the fact that something was wrong just because I wasn't getting my way. I mean, I'm such a _child_ sometimes...and not in the cute way kids are childs...children. I'm a child like a brat...not a brat...a bratwurst or anything but..."

Tim was holding back a smile by the middle of Abby's speech. The end almost undid him...and probably would have if she had kept it up. ...but she didn't. She stopped and looked at him, biting her lip in the way she had.

"I'm so sorry, Tim. I never meant to drive you away. I've missed you. I even thought about making a fake you...but I didn't think you'd be coming back...ever."

"A week ago, I would have agreed."

"Why did you come back?"

"Because I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

"So...you're really back?"

Tim nodded.

"It's not going to be the same, though, is it."

"Probably not...especially not at first." Tim hitched one shoulder. "Trust takes time, Abby."

"Will you be here so...I can take the time?"

"Yeah. I will."

"Can I give you a hug?"

Tim finally had to smile. "Maybe a soft one. I'm not ready for your usual attack pattern."

Abby crossed the great divide and put her arms around him. It wasn't her normal hug. It didn't have the manic energy attached. It was a testing of the waters. She let him go after a few seconds.

"I have to get to work, Abby."

"So do I, Tim."

Tim nodded and left. Outside the lab, he let out the breath he'd been holding. It would definitely take time.

"...but at least I have it to take." He nodded to himself and walked to the elevator...

...to get back to work.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

There were plenty of awkward moments. There were bound to be after the kind of thing that had happened to the MCRT. Particularly at the beginning, it seemed as though no one knew how to act around each other anymore. Tim, when he was working, sat in almost total silence at his computer, hardly interacting with the people around him. Tony and Ziva only seemed able to act normally when they were away from him. Even Gibbs found himself reacting to the revelations with things that weren't like his usual self.

Tim and Ducky had patched things up quite quickly. In fact, Tim seemed to look forward to going to Autopsy more than he ever had in the past. He lingered down there with Ducky and Jimmy, only coming up when it was necessary to continue doing his job. And that increased the strain on the team itself, knowing that he was more comfortable down there than with his teammates. It got to the point, about a month after Tim's return, that Vance was about ready to say that it wasn't working. He had watched them more closely than they realized and he didn't like what he was seeing.

Then, the day after he'd made his decision, he was walking along the balcony, not even really watching what was going on below but he saw something that made him change his mind.

Tony called Tim some variant of the McNicknames he thought were so clever (and really weren't). It had slipped out without a thought...and only then did he stop and look worried. He glanced at Tim and then at Ziva. ...and obviously wasn't sure if he should apologize. Tim rolled his eyes, crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at Tony...hitting him in the face. He didn't throw it hard. It just bounced off Tony's nose, leaving him as stunned as if Tim had hit him with a barbell.

"I'm not made of glass, Tony! Nor is my ego!"

Thereupon, Tony bent over, picked up the piece of paper, examined it closely...and then threw it back. Tim ducked and it missed him...but the second missile Tony sent soaring across the bullpen didn't. They were both taken by surprise when Ziva took it upon herself to hit them both...with rubber bands. The childish battle continued until Gibbs walked it, gave them all death glares and then sat down. The tension had dissipated. Vance didn't kid himself that it was gone for good.

...but he figured it probably _could_ be eventually and that was good enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three months later..._

"Where is he?" Gibbs snarled.

"I can't get a visual, Gibbs," Tony said anxiously. "Ziva's going around the building...but..."

"...but you can't see either one."

"No. Boss...I'm sorry."

"Focus on getting McGee out of this. We'll worry about blame later...but it's not your fault." Gibbs reined in his annoyance enough to reassure Tony on that score. The things that had bothered Tim before...and were being changed...slowly... were things that could be universally applied to his team. It took an extra two seconds to tell Tony that this situation wasn't his fault.

Ziva rejoined them, shaking her head. "I can see no way in. There is a possibility around the side...but not when we have no idea where they might be."

"I've got your man in here!" The voice was strangely amplified, impossible to tell its exact location. "I've got him and if you want this...this _geek_ to stay alive, you'll do exactly what I tell you!"

Ziva cocked her head to the side, trying to discern a point of origin. Gibbs and Tony also focused more on finding the location than on the words being spoken.

"You hear me out there?"

Gibbs nodded to Ziva and Tony to begin circling.

"What do you want?" he called back.

"I want out of here!"

"Come on, Raglan, you know that's not going to happen!"

"Then, there's no reason for me to keep this geek alive, is there?" Raglan shouted back.

"Yeah, there is! If you kill him, you're no longer just a thief. You're a cop killer! You think you'll last even five seconds with McGee dead?"

Gibbs gave a small gesture with his hands when he saw Ziva's signal that they had found Raglan's location.

"Come on, Raglan! You give me proof that McGee's alive and I'll see what I can do!"

"Not good enough!"

"Best I can do when you're threatening to kill one of my people."

"Fine!" Raglan's voice changed, became a bit muffled. "Go ahead. Tell them you're alive."

"I'm stupid, Boss!" Tim's voice sounded shaky but okay...for someone likely staring death in the face. "Didn't see him in time...around the corner when–"

"That's enough, geek! He's alive!"

Gibbs suspected that Tim had just been forcibly silenced, but it bought him time and it told him that Tim was not only alive, but more or less unhurt...for the moment. Tim had also managed to give some information about his location. He didn't like being stuck out here while one of his people was in danger, but he had to trust Tony and Ziva to do the jobs for which they'd been trained.

He saw a hand. Tony, counting down.

"Raglan! This is your last chance to stand down, let McGee go. If you don't, I can't make any guarantees that..."

Gibbs broke off when doors were simultaneously kicked in on opposite sides of the building. He heard voices shouting, "Freeze! Federal agents!" ...and then gunshots. He took off at a run toward the back door through which Tim had walked only an hour before. He burst inside, turning the fateful corner...

"No one calls McGee a geek but _me_," Tony was saying viciously. "And that's only because _I_ put a Mc in front of it. Without that, no dice." He had his gunned trained on Raglan's prone form while Ziva was cuffing him...rather roughly.

"You should apologize," Ziva said, yanking him up.

"Where's McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Here, Boss," Tim said and came out of the shadows. He was limping a little but otherwise seemed okay.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I think he wrenched my knee a bit when he hit me but..."

"He would like to apologize," Ziva said fiercely. She shook him. "Would you not?"

Raglan looked at Ziva like she'd lost her mind.

"I'd listen to her," Tony said. "She's impossible to reason with."

"Tell McGee you are sorry for calling him a geek."

"I _am_ a geek, Ziva," Tim said, rubbing his knee. Gibbs then saw how Tim had been taken down. Clubbed down...it appeared from the matted blood on the side of his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. Apologize!" She shook Raglan again.

"Ziva," Gibbs said, almost rolling his eyes. "Just take the guy to the car."

"Here, I'll help you get him there," Tony said, grinning maliciously at Raglan. He grabbed one arm and none-too-gently propelled him forward.

"I screwed up, Boss," Tim said as he watched them go. "He was right around the corner, waiting for me. I started to turn but I didn't even make it halfway around." He took a step to follow and stumbled. Gibbs immediately caught him and put a supporting arm around his waist.

"Not that bad, Boss. I think I just twisted it. Hard to control your descent when you're almost unconscious." Tim smiled and then grimaced as he put more weight on his right leg.

"There's a trick to it, but hopefully you won't have to learn it."

"A trick to falling?" Tim asked.

"There's a trick to everything."

"Yeah."

"Could have been worse, McGee," Gibbs said as they approached the car.

"How?"

"You could be dead instead of limping."

"True."

Gibbs paused, causing Tim to stop as well.

"What is it, Boss?"

"There's another way it could have been worse."

"What's that?" Tim asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"You could not have been here at all."

Tim couldn't think of anything to say to that...and Gibbs didn't give him a chance. Instead, he continued walking. He sent Raglan with Ziva and Tony while he took Tim to be checked out at the hospital. It had only been a glancing blow and while Tim got a few stitches, neither his head nor his knee were seriously injured. He received instructions that he should take it easy for a couple of days and then convinced Gibbs to let him go back to NCIS...to get his car if nothing else.

"So...how's the wounded, Probie?" Tony asked as Tim limped into the bullpen.

"Wounded," Tim answered. "But not bad." He saw the elevator doors open and forestalled further comment by adding, "It's nothing serious, Abby. I promise."

It was a wasted effort. Abby nearly knocked him off his feet with a hug. "Good. Be more careful next time!"

"Yes, ma'am," Tim answered but he laughed and fended her off.

"You should have let me make him apologize," Ziva said, darkly. "It would have been no trouble."

Tim limped to his desk and laughed. "Ziva, the word geek is not going to make me fall apart. Besides, I _am_ a geek. I've always known that."

"Yes, but he was saying it as an epithet," Ziva said. "_That_ is not right."

Tim shook his head and smiled. "I don't care what Raglan thinks of me, Ziva. He's going to prison, for a long time. His opinion doesn't matter."

"But you're _not_ just a geek, Tim," Abby said, possessively, hugging him again. "You're _our_ geek."

Tim looked at them all and considered what Abby had said.

Finally, he smiled and nodded.

"I think I can live with that."

FINIS!


End file.
